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No, iS'ia. Annual 8ub‘«*r)pT,ion S'iO. Enten d ar the l*opt Otnce, New York, 
»B RocotKl »n.vier. .'an. 12, 1889. 

Our 

Rhdichls 

A TALE OF LOVE AND POLITICS 




No. issa. 


ao e^nte. 





/;4 ^‘ 7 .- 


■ ,*.v 


FRED. . BURNABY. 



Ew York 



Ot1N-V/-L2V£LL (O/AP^ 



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'■■■ o 


OUR RADICALS 



BY FRED. BURNABY. 


PREFACE. 


In the summer of the year 1882 a paragraph appeared in 
the World which graphically and accurately described 
Colonel Fred Burnaby at work in his house in Charles 
Street. “ There is a little boudoir, ” it ran, “ crowded with 
superb Dresden and Sevres, and in every corner are pres- 
ents from princes, many of them made on the occasion of 
Colonel Burnaby’s wedding. There are tokens of regard 
from Mr. Labouchere as from Mr. Yates, handsome souve- 
nirs of the friendship of the royal princes, and a beautifully 
inlaid and mounted revolver from Don Carlos. Essentially 
the dwelhng of a traveled man, the writing-room up-stairs 
shows signs unmistakable of a literary workshop. Apart 
from the official table, cumbered with the reports and 
printed forms incidental to the command of a regiment, is 
another, with heaps of manuscript in the strange scrawl 
with Avhich the writer thinks it well to tax the intelligence 
of compositors, and which he likes to see in type before at- 
tempting to put the final touches to his novel ; for he will 
not be satisfied any longer with rides to Khiva, or Channel 
voyages in a balloon. Nothing will serve his purpose but 
the authorship of a novel, dealing with political questions 
and personages. This is the magnum opus on which the 
colonel of the Blues gets to work early in the morning, be- 
fore his regimental duties take him away to barracki^. His 
manuscript, like his acts and deeds generally, is on ^ large 
scale. There are certain men who require elbow-room, and 
whose height makes ordinary furniture appear absurd. At 
an ordinary table Colonel Burnaby would find writing 
crippling work, so he employs a writing-board, like a draw- 
ing-board, made out of the side of an old portmanteau. 
Resting this on one knee, he describes with great rapidity 
the caugraphic puzzles he intends for the printer, some- 


2 • OUR RADICALS. 

times in blue ink, sometimes with a xylographic pen, often 
with a lead-pencil.” 

On the death of his mother, Colonel Burnaby left 18 
Charles Street, and took up his residence at 36 Beaufort 
Gardens. 

Most of the summer of 1884 he spent at Somerby, his 
estate in Leicestershire, returning to Beaufort Gardens in 
time to make his final preparations for his journey to the 
Soudan. 

The night before Colonel Burnaby left England he gave 
into my charge, among other important papers, the manu- 
script of the novel which I present to the public under the 
title of ‘ ‘ Our Eadicals. ’ ’ 

In doing so I am but carrying out an intention of his 
own. One of the last things he said to me at Victoria 
Station, a few minutes before his departure, was, ‘ ‘ I shall 
publish that novel when I return, but it will want a great 
deal of rewriting.” 

Had he lived to carry out his purpose, I believe great 
alterations would have been made in the construction of 
the work. Those material alterations with which he ac- 
quainted me I have refrained from making, as by so doing 
I should, in a great measure, have destroyed its originality. 
Occasionally it has been necessary to remodel sentences, 
and to supply dialogues ; and as the novel was unfinished, 
I have been obliged to complete it on the lines which he 
laid down. But, with these exceptions, I have followed the 
original reading, word for word ; and the difficulties which 
others have experienced in deciphering the manuscript I 
have overcome through familiarity with the author’s 
handwriting. 

In going through his papers after his death I found three 
letters written by him which possess some general interest, 
and which illustrate his own words, that to describe the 
places through which one travels it is essential that one 
should write easily and graphically. 

The first is dated February 11, 1877, from Erzeroum, 
Turkey in Asia, and was written three days after his arrival 
at that place, from Scutari, during his famous ride on 
horseback across Asia Minor: 

‘‘ It has been a hard journey. Over thirteen hundred 
miles, and all on horseback, through deep mud at first, and 
in some places up to the horses’ girths. But on we went, 
leaving Ismid, the ancient Nicomedia, behind us, and 
spending 'the nights with people of all sorts of nationalities 
—Circassians, Tartars, Turks, Greeks, and Armenians, for 
all these races own the Sultan as Lord of Anatolia— till we 
reached Angora, the town from whence the goat’s hair so 


OtfR RADICALS. 


3 


celebrated in Europe is brought to our English markets. I 
stayed at Angora three days, and was the guest of a rich 
Turkish gentleman, who treated me in a princely manner. 
Then on the track again, over mountains and crags, pass- 
ing over ground that abounds with mineral wealth, and, 
alas! left idly in the earth, till I reached Jurgat, where I 
was the guest of an Armenian Christian. These Armenian 
Christians keep their wives in harems, and never allow 
them to expose their faces to a stranger. They are limited 
to one wife, it is true ; but to all intents and purposes they 
are exactly like the Mohammedans. 

“ ‘ Why do you not introduce your family to me?’ I in- 
quired one day of my host. 

“ ‘ I keep my wife and daughter for myself, and not for 
my guests, ’ was the reply. 

“All through this part of the world the same custom 
exists. Poor Armenian women! Thej^ are indeed to be 
pitied. They receive no education whatever. What they 
do not know themselves, it is impossible to teach their chil- 
dren ; the result is that the whole population, Christian as 
well as Mussulman, is steeped in the deepest slough of 
ignorance. And now I leave Jurgat, and pass by the town 
of Tokat. The snow grows thicker about our path; we 
have to ride down glaciers and by precipices where a slip 
would prove our last. Now we cross the mighty Euphrates ; 
along its banks we go — the scenery is lovely. The glaciers 
flashing in the sun, the many-colored rocks glinting 
from above their beds of snow. Then the road becomes 
more elevated. We are always rising higher and higher. 
We lose sight of the Euphrates, which for some time has 
looked like a streak of silver beneath our horses’ feet, and 
we are above the clouds. We are more than a mile high, 
but on we go, still ascending, ever higher and higher. The 
sun clears away the surrounding mist, and before us in the 
distance, like a fleet of sailing vessels which have been 
tossed into a safe haven by the lofty billows all around 
them, lies Erzeroum, which city is supposed to have been 
the home of our first parents. The numerous minarets and 
^ires appear in the distance like the masts of a mighty 
* flnet, while the white and billowy -shaped mountains seem 
like the waves I have likened them too. We approach the 
city. It grows as we near its walls. The houses take form 
and shape, the minarets and domes flash in the setting sun, 
and Erzeroum is reached. ’ ’ 

In December of the year 1877 he was in European Turkey 
with General Baker, and was at the battle of Tashkasan, 
when with 2800 men they had to cover the retreat of Shakir 
I^xcha’s army from the Russian attack. 

On this occasion he wrote from Shakir Pacha’s head- 


4 


OUR radjcalf;. 


quarters, Othlukoi, eight days after the battle, which oc- 
curred on the 31st of December, 1877 : 

‘‘We have been constantly on the move, and it has been 
a very exciting time, not only for the Turks, but also for 
lookers-on like myself. When the new^ reached us that 
Plevna had fallen, it became at once clear that 120,000 
more Russians would be free to march against our small 
force of 20,000, which, owing to the extreme cold in the 
Balkans, was rapidly diminishing, on an average 200 men 
going into hospital every day with frost-bites, dysentery, 
ague, etc. However, orders came from Constantinople for 
Shakir Pacha to hold his position at Kamack as long as 
possible. This he did in spite of several attacks by the 
Russians ; but at last, on the 27th of December last, they 
succeeded in sending a large force of 30,000 "men by a 
mountain path across the Balkans, and were thus enabled 
to attack us in rear as well as front. Baker Pacha, with a 
small brigade of 2800 men, was sent to the village of Tash- 
kasan, to hold the fresh Russian force in check while Shakir 
Pacha retreated with the remainder of our troops in the 
direction of the town in which we now are. I went with 
Baker, and on the last day of the year 1877 the Russians at- 
tacked us. They had 30,000 men ; we had only 2800. The 
battle raged from daybreak till sundown, and Shakir 
Pacha’s reply to Baker’s frequent demands for reinforce- 
ments was that he had none to give, and that we must hold 
our own, as, if the Russians were to carry our position, the 
whole of Shakir Pacha’s army, which were retreating, 
would be taken in flank and annihilated. The Turks fought 
splendidly, in spite of the tremendous odds, and struggled 
for every inch of ground with an extraordinary tenacity. 
The day seemed never inclined to end, and Baker kept look- 
ing at his watch, while the Turks kept gazing at tiie sun, 
their timepiece, as until nightfall it would be impossible for 
us to move. 

“ The hours rolled on, and our men died in their places. 
Just before the sun set the Russians collected themselves 
for a supreme effort, and charged our troops for the last 
time. The Turks, calling upon Allah, rushed at their foes, 
and actually drove them back a few hundred yards. It 
was now too late for the Russians to make another at- 
tempt. 

‘ ‘ In the dark we marched down the plain, and mustered 
our men before marching to this place. Out of our 2800 men 
600 were killed or wounded, over 450 being killed . The Rus - 
sians must have lost very heavily, owing to their attacking 
us in cqlumn with dense masses of troops. There was an 
other little battle the day before yesterday, and we had the 
worst of it, losing over 200 men.” 


OUR RADICALS. 


5 


In March, 1883, he was traveling in Spain with a friend, 
and I make a few extracts from a letter dated from the 
Grand Hotel de Paris, at Madrid : 

“We arrived here the day before yesterday, having 
traveled through from Paris in thirty- eight hours. It is 
very cold here, some degrees below freezing, and a wind 
which, as you know, makes the cold more penetrating. 
The same day we arrived we received a letter from Count 
S , the chamberlain of the king, appointing the follow- 

ing day at six p.m. for an audience of his majesty. We 
went there at that hour in evening dress, and were the 
first to be shown into the sovereign’s presence. He was 
very amiable, and introduced me to the queen, who speaks 
English well, and showed me his child, a little girl of about 
two years old. He then said, ‘ I am afraid I cannot keep 
the other people waiting. Come and lunch with us to- 
morrow at 12.30. Only the family, you know. I want so 
much to have a long talk to you. ’ " Of course we accepted. 

After dinner that evening we went to Senor C ’s box at 

the opera. The theater was crowded. ‘ Mephistopheles ’ 
was the piece performed. The house was full of all the 
beauty of Madrid, and the king and queen were in the 
royal box, and nodded several times to us during the opera. 
I met many old friends in the house, and enjoyed myself 
very much. To-day we went to the palace. I sat on the 
left hand of the queen, who was very agreeable. The three 
princesses were there— the youngest sister of the sovereign, 
who is to marry a Bavarian prince on the second of next 
month. She is pretty, and looks about eighteen; he, I 
should say, is about thirty. Then there was a Spanish 
general whom I had known some twelve years ago, and, 
in addition, the English governesses, or companions, of the 
princesses. Nothing could exceed the kindness of the 
family. The king reminded me of his visits to me when he 
was an exile in London, and of how he had then partaken 
of my hospitality. 

“After breakfast, or luncheon, which was very good, 
and when we had partaken of some magnificent straw- 
berries, the king lit a cigar and we smoked, the ladies talk- 
ing to us all the while. He is a young man of about 
twenty -five years of age, dark and good-looking, tall, with 
large eyes, and a very intelligent face.” 

It will be much regretted that a rough diary, which he 
kept of his life in the Soudan, was lost on the Nile, and 
only a few letters reached England. 

The first was written from Wady Haifa, and dated 
Thursday, December 4, 1884: 

‘ ‘ I have been appointed inspecting staff officer of the line 


6 


OUR RADICALS. 


between Tanjour and Magrakeh, on the Nile, about sixty 
miles from this. I have to superintend the moving of the 
Nile boats in that district ; and, as the water is very shal- 
low, most of them will have to be carried on land. It will 
be very hard work, but at the same time interesting em- 
ployment. I leave this to-morrow to take up my new 
duties.” 

On the 11th of December he wrote from Dal on the Nile : 

“ I left Wady Haifa about five days ago, went by train 
(three hours) to Sarras, and then rode on camels here. The 
camels were bad, and broke down several times. We 
journeyed through the desert with not a blade of grass to 
be seen — nothing but white sand, high rocks and black 
crags. Since I have been here I have been very busy. The 
Nile here is like a mill-pond in many places, and when the 
wind is not favorable the boats have to be carried for two 
and a half miles across the desert on men’s shoulders. 
Each boat weighs eleven hundred weight, and her stores 
three and a half tons, so this will give you an idea of the 
labor. I passed eleven boats through the cataract the first 
day, seventeen the next, thirty-four yesterday, and hope 
to do forty more to-day. Our work is to spur on all the 
officers and men, and see that they work to their utter- 
most. This I think they do, and it will be very difficult 
for me to get more out of them. It does not do to overspur 
a willing norse. I sleep on the ground in a waterproof 
bag, and have as aid-de-camp Captain Gascoigne, late of 
my regiment. He has just gone for an eight hours’ ride 
down the Nile to report to me on the boats coming up. A 
strong north wind is blowing to-day, which helps us much 
with the boats. I do hope it will continue, as some four 
hundred and fifty more have to pass through these cata- 
racts very shortly.” 

Four days later he wrote from the camp at Dal, on the 
Nile: 

“I am up before daylight, getting boats and soldiers 
across the cataracts. It is very interesting, but good, hard 
work. There was a deadlock here before I arrived, but I 
have put things straight again, and the boats are going on 
to Dongola without any delay. 

“There is a strange mixture of people here— Arab camel- 
drivers, black Dongolese porters, still blacker Kroomen, 
Red Indians, Canadian boatmen, Greek interpreters, men 
from Aden, Egyptian soldiery, Scotch, Irish, and English 
Tommy Atkins— a very babel of tongues and accents. The 
nights are cold, but on the whole I feel well. Sir Red vers 
Biiller arrived this morning and expressed himself very 
pleased with the work done, An English soldier has just 


OUR RADICALS. 


7 


had a narrow escape : his boat ran against a rock and he 
was tossed into the water. His comrades threw him a life- 
belt, and he managed to catch it, or he would have been 
sucked down to a certainty. Captain Gascoigne has just 
taken him a tumbler of whisky. Buchanan, my servant, 
is well, and very useful.” 

On the 24th of the same month he wrote: 

‘ ‘ Great excitement is prevailing at the present moment, 
as my basin, in which a black was washing my shirts, slip- 
ped out of his hands and is sailing gayly down the Nile. 
Buchanan is in despair, as it cannot be replaced. The ex- 
citement increases. A black on board a boat close at hand 
has jumped into the river. The stream is dangerous here, 
there being so many rocks and eddies. He is pui'suing the 
basin, he has come up to it and landed it safely. 

” It is dangerous bathing here, and two days ago, when 
swimming after his helmet, a man was drowned. He had 
just reached it when he threw up his arms and called out. 
It was impossible to aid him, and he sank immediately. He 
was probably caught in an eddy or small whirlpool, when 
the best swimmer has no chance. 

” It is extremely cold about two a. m., till the sun gets up, 
and then it is very warm in the middle of the day. I came 
back this morning after a three days’ excursion to the Isle 
of Say, where I have been arranging with the sheiks for the 
purchase of Indian corn and wood for fuel. I bought an 
Arab bedstead there for two dollars. For food, I live 
the same as the soldiers — preserved beef, preserved vegeta- 
bles, and hme-juice, with occasionally a drop of rum, which 
is very acceptable. A piece of bacon was served out to 
each man, and a pound of flour, as well, this morning, as it 
is Christmas to-morrow. Bacon is a great luxury here. I 
am going to dine with Lieutenant- Colonel Alleyne, of the 
Royal Artillery, to-morrow. He has a plum pudding he 
brought with him from England, and I can assure you we 
are looking forward to the consumption of that pudding 
very much like boys at school. I must have lost quite tAvo 
stone the last month, and am all the better for it. A sol- 
dier stole some stores a few. days ago. He has been tried 
by court-martial and given flve years penal servitude. In 
old days he would haA^e escaped with a flogging, but now 
that is abolished the man has to suffer five years instead. 
Poor fellow ! I expect he does not bless the sentimentalists 
who did away Avith flogghig in the army. Taking every- 
thing into coiisideration, the men are behaving wonderfully 
well. 

” They haA-e very, very hard Avork, and this so-called Nile 
picnic is as severe a strain as Avell could be put on them, 


8 


OUR RADICALS. 

physically speaking. Yet you never hear a grumble, and 
they deserve the greatest praise. My tent is on the very 
edge of the river. Large rocks and bowlders are peering out 
of the water in all directions, and as each day the river 
falls, fresh blocks of stone come in view. I do not expect the 
last boat will pass this cataract before the middle of next 
month, and then I hope to be sent for to the front, as 
my leave ends the 31st of March, and it would take me quite 
a month to get from Khartoum to London, traveling al- 
most night and day. It is a responsible post which Lord 
Wolseley has given me here, with forty miles of the most 
difficult part of the river, and I am very grateful to him 
for letting me have it ; but I must say I shall be better 
pleased if he sends for me when the troops advance upon 
Khartoum. Of course, some one must be left to look after 
the line of communication, and each man hopes he may 
not be the unfortunate individual. Anyhow, if I am left 
behind I shall not outwardly grumble, although I shall in- 
wardly swear, as Lord Wolseley has been so very kind.” 

The last letter is dated the 26th of December, from Dal 
on the Nile : 

‘ ‘ Every morning I am up before six, and am out of doors 
all day, either on a camel or on my legs, superintending the 
transport of boats and boat- stores up the cataracts. I have 
not seen a newspaper for the last month, and we all live in 
blissful ignorance of the outer world. I had my Christmas 
dinner last night with Colonel Alleyne. Party: Lord 
Charles Beresford, Captain Gascoigne, and self. Dinner : 
Preserved pea-soup, some ration beef, and a plum-pudding, 
sent out from England, which was done great justice to, 
the dinner being washed down by libations of whisky and 
brandy, mixed with Nile water. As some one observed, 
the Nile tastes strongly of whisky after six p. M. One, jok- 
ing about the expedition and its difficulties, remarked that 
there had been no such expedition since Hannibal tried to 
cross the Alps in a boat. I expect to have got the last boat- 
load of soldiers through here by the second of next month, 
and then there will be very little for me to do, and I hope 
to be sent on.” 

That hope was realized, and on the 17th of January, 1885, 
in the battle of Abu Klea fell ‘ ‘ the brightest knight that 
ever waved a lance. ” One who had known him intimately 
for twenty years wrote, on hearing of the terrible news, 
” His gallant spirit has flown as he wished, in a hand-to- 
hand fight for the service of his country, and the death-roll 
of English heroes has added to it a name inferior to none in 
heroic quality. ” 

Had he lived to complete this novel himself, it would not 


OUR RADICALS. 


9 


have been surrounded with the sad reflections which must 
inevitably fall upon the minds of those who read these 
pages, and who knew him sufflciently to be able to trace 
in them that complete fearlessness which gave color to his 
views and characterized all his actions ; and which, more- 
over, evoked admiration alike from those who differed 
from him as from those with whom he thought in common. 

There is no need for me here to add to the words of praise 
that have been spoken and written already of him by il- 
lustrous friends and generous foes. I complete this labor 
of love with a great reverence for it, which will be shared 
by all who remember, as they read these pages, that the 
hand which penned them was the hand that struck its last 
blow for England’s honor. 

J. Percival Hughes. 

56 Wbstbourne Terrace, Hyde Park, W. 


o- 


CHAPTER I. 

“ By Jove, how it blows! The heavy cavalry will have 
a rough passage to-night.” 

These words issued from the lips of a young officer 
dressed in a dragoon uniform. He was engaged in a game 
of billiards in the Harnston barracks with a companion. 
The latter was a stout man in the prime of life. He had 
taken off his mess-jacket, and, with braces loosened to 
give him the more ease, he was leaning forward to make a 
spot stroke. 

” Yes,” was the reply. “ I hope, when we sail for India, 
the elements will be more propitious. ” 

Several other officers of the 21st Dragoon Guards were 
watching the game. One of them, a tall, well-built man, 
was chaffing the players. He was a senior captain of the regi- 
ment, and of an old West Country family. The baronetage 
of the Digbys went back for many generations. Sir Rich- 
ard Digby, the present possessor of the title, had been for 
several years in the army. He was not much liked by 
many of his brother officers, on account of his assertive dis- 
position. 

” There you go again, doctor,” he remarked; ” your fig- 
ure getting in the way of the pocket. I have laid two 
pounds to one on you, and never will I back sitch an obese 
mortal again.” 


10 


OUR RADICALS. 


“You will lose more than that, Dick, in your bet with 
Arthur Belper,” replied Dr. Allenby, not at all pleased at 
the allusion made to the size of his waist. 

“ What bet is that?” asked one of the company. 

“ Why, Diffby has bet Belper £500, even money, that he 
(Belper) will be married in ten years, and Arthur, who is a 
most determined Avoman-hater, has offered to double the 
amount; but Dick funks, and won’t have it.” 

“Of course not,” said the baronet ; “why should I make 
Arthur more resolved to remain a bachelor than he is at 
present?” 

“I don’t think you will,” said another of the company; 
“ but here comes Arthur— let us hear what he has to say 
to it.” 

As these words were uttered Arthur Belper entered the 
billiard-room. 

He Avas above the middle height, and Avell-built ; his age 
apparently about seven-and-tAventy. His complexion had 
become brown by frequent exposure to the air, and a pair 
of large blue eyes lit up a singularly handsome counte- 
nance. Yet at times a sad expression Avould pass over his 
face. He would seem to be bored, not only by himself, but 
by everything around him. He had been in one of these 
moods when Digby had joked him as to his haAung some 
secret passion, and in an unguarded moment he had bet 
Digby an eA^en £500 that he Avould not be married in ten 
years. 

The bet made some little commotion at the time. Sev- 
eral dowagers in Belgravia, Avith marriageable daughters 
to dispose of. Avere furious Avith the baronet. Arthur Bel- 
per, besides being of a singidarly affectionate disposition, 
Avas the possessor of a considerable fortune. 

While engaged in out-door pursuits no trace of sadness 
could be seen on his features ; but when he Avas alone, and 
for a time unoccupied, his gloomy fits Avould take posses- 
sion of him. What were they produced by? some of his 
elder brother officers would ask themseHes. Was there a 
taint of hereditary insanity in his family? for, indeed, it 
Avas rumored that Arthur’s grandfather had committed 
suicide. At any rate, Belper, liked as he was by his com- 
rades, Avas nevertheless an enigma to them. 

If any one understood him, perhaps it was Digby, the 
captain of his troop, Avho, hated ^s he Avas by many men 
in the regiment, was on excellent terms with his subal- 
tern. 

Never Avere two people so different in character, yet be- 
tAveen them there was a strong bond of sympathy. Was it 
that each one divined the other’s secret? For most men 
haA^e some skeleton which they try to hide from the world, 


OUR RADICALS. 


11 


and sometimes from themselves, by an affectation of 
cynicism. An impossible task, indeed, for the canker re- 
mains, and fixes its roots more firmly in the heart and 
brain, for all the efforts made to obliterate it from the rec- 
ollection. 

“They are discussing our bet,” said Sir Eichard, hold- 
ing out his hand to Belper; “but you are wet from head 
to foot.” 

‘ ‘ So would you be if you had taken a header into the 
Thames, and had not had time to change.” 

“How did you get your ducking?” asked one of the 
officers. 

‘ ‘ Oh, simply enough. I was driving over Putney Bridge, 
when a man deliberately pushed a boy over the parapet 
into the water, and then ran for his life. I don’t know ex- 
actly what happened afterward ; but somehow I found my- 
self in the river, swimming for my life with the little fellow 
under my arm. It was rather dark when I reached the 
bank, and, as there Avas no one to be seen, I brought the 
boy here.” 

“ Where is he?” they all inquired. 

“In my room. I ordered my servant to put him in a 
Avarmbath. Come and see.” 

With these Avords he led theAvay out of the billiard-room 
into some quarters tenanted by himself and his captain. 
There, in a large hip-bath, a gigantic dragoon was Avashing 
a lad, who, to judge by his appearance, might have been 
thirteen or fourteen years of age. 

“Ah, sm! and I am glad you have come here,” said 
Belper’ s ser\^ant to his master. “When I speak to him, 
he answers in gibberish. I don’t understand one word he 
says. ’ ’ 

And Bruce, Arthur’s fidiis Achates., continued scrubbing 
the boy, and rubbing hiin down with a rough towel, hissing 
all the Avhile A^ery much as if he were grooming one of his 
master’s chargers. 

“Stop, or you Avill hurt him!” said Belper, laughing. 
“ I only wanted you to bring back his circulation. Put the 
lad on the sofa and cover him with blankets. Presently 
I will find out Avho he is ; in the meantime get me a change 
of clothes.” 

All the officers, except Digby, soon returned to the 
billiard- room, and Belper commenced undressing. 

Sir Richard, sitting down in an arm-chair, helped him- 
self to a cigar from a box that stood near him. 

“Why, Arthur,” he remarked, “here you are saddled 
with a child already !” 

“Well,” replied Belper, “if I cannot discover his rela- 
tions I certainly shall not turn the boy into the streets.” 


OUR RADICALS. 


ia 


“You do not mean to say that you would adopt him,” 
said Sir Eichard, laughing. 

‘ ‘ Perhaps not ; but I would pay B:fuce’s wife to look after 
the lad, and would see myself that he was properly edu- 
cated.” 

“ How old should you say he is?” 

“Twelve or thirteen, perhaps; ask him.” Digby rose, 
and went to the sofa, addressing the boy. To his surprise 
he did not answer in English, but in French. 

“ You have rescued some French street arab,” said the 
baronet; “and yet he does* not look or speak like one. 
Come here, Arthur. You are a better French scholar than 
I am ; ask him yourself about his history. ’ ’ 

Belper approached the sofa. The boy’s eyes glistened at 
the sight of his rescuer. 

“Who are you?” said Arthur; “and who is the man 
who pushed you into the water?” 

The lad’s face darkened, and he put his hands before his 
eyes, as if to avoid seeing some horrible apparition. 

“Don’t be afraid,” said Arthur, kindly. “You are 
quite safe with us. Tell me all you know about your- 
self.” 

The little fellow looked for a moment anxiously around 
the room, and then spoke. 

“A short time ago,” he said, “I was very happy. 
People were kind to me. I was in a school in France. One 
day I was told that my father wanted to see me. I had 
never seen my parents, at least not to my recollection. I 
was taken into a little room. There I saw a man, the same 
one who pushed me into the water. ‘ I am your father, 
Eugene, ’ he said ; ‘ I have come to take you to a beautiful 
house. You will have a. pony to ride and nice companions 
to play with. ’ I felt sure he was not my father, so I said, 

‘ I have companions here, and will not go with you. ’ And 
I wanted to run away from him ; but the old lady we used 
to call madame said, ‘ Eugene, you must not be disrespect- 
ful to your father. He brought you here when you were 
a little boy, and paid for you ever since. ’ No one inter- 
fered, and I was made to go down-stairs and get into a car- 
nage. The man gave me something to drink, and I went 
to sleep. When I awoke I was very ill, and on a ship at 
sea. After some days we arrived in a large town. I was 
taken to a house — I resisted going, and called out, but no 
one could understand me. This afternoon I was told that 
I was to see my real parents. When we were on the bridge 
the man said, ‘ Eugene, get up here, and I will show you 
where your father lives. ’ I climbed on the parapet, and he 
said, ‘ Look straight before you. ’ And he then gave me a 


OUR RADICALS. 13 

push. I fell into the water, and I remember nothing 
more.” 

With these words the boy left off speaking, and began to 
\jry bitterly. 

“We are no nearer than we were before as to who he is,” 
said Sir Eichard. ” Do you know Metrale, the head of the 
police?” 

“No.” 

• ‘ Well, I will give you a line to him. He is an extremely 
able man, and a friend of mine. Go to his house to-mor- 
row, and tell him what has occurred. He may be able to 
put two and two together, and advise as to what course to 
pursue.” 

Sir Richard Digby lit another of Belper’s cigars, and left 
the room to join the billiard- players. 


CHAPTER II. 

“Seventeen thousand three hundred and forty-five 
pounds eleven shillings and sevenpence three farthings is 
their exact value, sir ; at all events, the value for which 
the diamonds were insured. Then there are the bank-notes 
and shares. I think in all I might put the loss down at 
forty-seven thousand pounds.” 

The speaker. Inspector Jumbleton, was a man of stunted 
growth, and about fifty years of age. His head was thinly 
covered with red hair, and his eyes, which were very small 
and close together, gave him a somewhat ferret-like appear- 
ance. He was giving to Mr. Metrale, the head of the police, 
an account of a robbery that had been perpetrated a few 
days before at a post-office in London. The robbery had 
made a considerable sensation, owing to the daring man- 
ner in which it had been effected. A woman entered a 
central office and asked for a receipt to a registered letter. 
The mail- bags were lying on the ground by the counter. 
A few minutes after her departure the mail-cart driver 
came for the bags, and on being informed of their contents 
was struck by their lightness. On examination it was dis- 
covered that they were not the original sacks, but were im- 
itation ones, which she had left in the place of the real 
bags she had carried away beneath her cloak. 

“ Always a woman, sir, in these matters,” said Inspec- 
tor Jumbleton; “they walk round us just as they choose. 
If I were at the head of the government I would have a 
detective department managed by women. Why, where 
their own sex is concerned, they are ten times as sharp as 
we are. ‘ Set a woman to catch a woman, ’ said Mrs. Jum- 
bleton to me.” . / 

The inspector was considered quite a privileged charac- 


14 


OUR RADICALS. 


ter in Sarley Street, where Mr. Metrale lived. He was One 
of the sharpest detectives in the force, not so much, per- 
haps, on account of his own innate shrewdness as on ac- 
count of the smartness of his wife. Mrs. Jumble ton took 
the greatest interest in her husband’s business. He al- 
ways consulted her whenever he was engaged in endeavor- 
ing to unravel some criminal mystery ; and on several 
occasions her clear powers of perception —which enabled 
her, like many of her sex, to jump to a conclusion- had 
given him the identical clew which led to the detection of 
the delinquent. 

Metrale was well aware of Mrs. Jumbleton’s intelligence. 
When the inspector first married, his chief was a little 
alarmed, lest in a moment of amativeness Jumbleton might 
be indiscreet, and let out important secrets connected with 
the department, which, owing to his steadiness, Jumbleton 
had been intrusted with. 

But if he had, they never came back to Metrale’s ears, 
and on several occasions when Mrs. Jumbleton had gone to 
him, and offered her assistance in watching certain sus- 
pected persons, he had been much struck by her zeal and 
ability. Metrale’ s ofiice was no sinecure. It had been 
started about three years, upon the principles of the Con- 
tinental system. Metrale was forty-seven when the ap- 
pointment was offered him, and now, although only fifty 
years of age, he was quite gi‘ay. A face furrowing with 
wrinkles gave evident signs of constant anxiety and over- 
work. 

Nothing could happen in town without Metrale being 
aware of it. Several robberies had recently occurred on an 
extensive scale. The thieves had carried their audacity so 
far as to effect an entrance into Buckingham Palace, dur- 
ing the court ball, and had there plied their profession suc- 
cessfully, having cut several diamonds of enormous value 
from a Begum’s dress, and even stolen some ornaments 
from the person of one of the royal family. 

Then there were the daring Fenian plots. Several ex - 
plosions had taken place in the military barracks, and 
other public buildings had to be watched day and night. 

Over and above these things, there were the persons of 
the ministers to guard. Lord O’ Hagan Harton, the lord 
chancellor, having been fired at on one or two occasions. 
The noble lord, who was not very particular as to the feel 
ings of others, was highly sensitive whenever his own per- 
sonal comfort and security were concerned. Metrale con- 
stantly received telegrams from him as to anonymous 
letters of a threatening character which the lord chancellor 
had received, and recently the minister had ordered a tele- 
phone to be constructed between his own house and that of 


OUR RADICALS. 


15 


the chief of police. He was thus able to inform Metrale a;; 
t^ his intended movements. The other members of the 
cabinet had been similarly threatened, but few of them 
lived in such a continual state of apprehension as Lord 
O’Hagan Harton. 

Several attempts had been made on the prime minister’s 
life. On one occasion a torpedo had been discovered in his 
cellar ; on another he had narrowly escaped being poisoned. 
An Irish cook in his service, a woman affiliated with a 
branch of the Fenians, had put a deadly drug into a dressed 
lobster, for which delicacy Mr. Cumbermore had a great 
partiality. Fortunately for the prime minister, on this 
particular occasion he did not partake of his favorite dish. 

All these matters naturally caused Mr. Metrale great 
anxiety. He felt that he was responsible for the safety of 
the members of the government, and of the community at 
large, but the money allowed him for his department was 
limited. The ministers required such a large number of 

I )olice as a bodyguard that there were hardly any officials 
eft to look after the interests of the public. 

It was while he was considering with Inspector Jumble - 
ton as to what plan to adopt for the discovery of the per 
petrators of the post-office robbery that a tap was heard at 
the door. 

“ Come in,” said Metrale. 

A policeman in plain clothes entered, and gave Mr. Met 
rale a card and a letter. 

“You can go now, Jumbleton. I will see you again pres- 
ently,” said Mr. Metrale. “Show the gentleman in,” he 
added, addressing the bearer of the card and letter. 

Helper was announced, and entered the room. 

‘ ‘ I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Helper, ’ ’ 
said Metrale. “ Sir Richard Digby has often mentioned 
your name to me. Hut you require my services, I see by 
this letter.” 

After Helper had told him of the adventure of the previous 
day the chief of the police remained for some minutes 
buried in deep thought. 

“ I should like to see the boy,” he remarked, at length. 
“ Is he with you?” 

‘ ‘ Yes, I thought you might like to speak to him. He is in 
my brougham below.” 

Metrale touched an electric bell twice. Jumbleton en- 
tered. 

“ There is a lad in this gentleman’s carriage; bring him 
here.” 

“He only speaks French,” said Helper; “ perhaps he 
will not understand. ” 


IH 


OUR RADICALS. 


“ Our inspectors speak French and German, and Juni- 
bleton speaks Russian as well,” said Metrale. 

In a few minutes Jumbleton returned, leading Eugene 
by the hand. 

‘ ‘ He is a fine boy, ’ ’ said Metrale to Belper, and then ad- 
dressed Eugene in French. 

“Should you know the man again who brought you 
from France, and who pushed you into the river?” 

“Yes,” answered Eugene, and an angry expression 
passed over the boy’s face. 

Metrale then spoke a few words in an undertone to the 
inspector. The latter left the room, but shortly returned 
with some large albums. 

“ Now,” said Metrale, “ what was the color of the man’s 
hair, and how old should you think he was?” 

‘ ‘ His hair was black, and he seemed about as old — £is 
old as you, sir.” 

“Ah, about fifty, and with dark hair; now as to height. 
Was he as tall as I am?” 

Eugene stood up by Mr. Metrale’ s side, at the same time 
putting his hand above his own head, and indicating by 
that means the height of the man. 

“ Did he speak French well?” 

“No; I could hardly understand him,” said Eugene. 

“Now, Jumbleton,” said Mr. Metrale. “The albums of 
Irishmen above forty years of age.” 

The inspector produced an enormous volume. 

“There,” said Metrale to Eugene ; “take this book into 
the other room. If you see any photograph at all like the 
man who brought you to England, come and show me.” 

What should you say was the man’s object in trying to 
drown the child?” said Belper, as Eugene left the room. 

‘ ‘ One of two things — either to obtain money from some 
person who wished him out of the way, or to gratify a re- 
vengeful feeling. You have no idea how many children 
havelbeen stolen from parents of late years. It is a plan 
of the Fenians to extort money, or political support in Par- 
liament. In one case the body of a little girl was found at 
her mother’s door. It is a deplorable state of things. 
There is only one way to stamp out secret societies, and 
that is by force ; but then that, you know, the prime min- 
ister says is no remedy. If the Fenians have had a hand in 
this case, I am powerless.” 

The inspector returned at this moment with Eugene. He 
had seen a photograph that was very like the man. 

“ Did he limp as he walked?” asked Metrale. 

“ A little, ” was the reply. 

“I fear my conjecture is right,” said Metrale; “this 
child is not born of humble parents.” 


OUR RADICALS. 


17 


“ But he is French,” said Belper. “Surely the Fenians 
could bear no grudge against our neighbors across the 
water?” 

“Who can tell?” said Metrale. “There is evidently 
some mystery ; if you will leave it in my hands I will en- 
deavor to unravel it. In the meantime, what are you 
going to do with the boy?” 

“Take him into my service and educate him,” said 
Belper, laughing. “ As I have saved his life, I feel I am in 
a good measure responsible for it.” 

“ WeU, he will be safe with you in the barracks,” said 
Metrale. ‘ ‘ Good -morning. ’ ’ 

“Good-morning, Mr. Metrale, and many thanks for the 
interest you take in the matter,” said Belper, as he left 
the room with his protege. “Metrale may be right,” 
thought Belper, as they were seated in the brougham; 
“there is evidently some mystery about his parentage. 
Anyhow, he shall come to no harm while he is with me. ’ ’ 


' CHAPTER III. 

There were several broughams standing outside 172 Ar- 
lington Street one wet Sunday afternoon. The coachmen 
were grumbling at the time they were exposed to the in- 
clemency of the weather. 

Lady Tryington was always at home to her friends on 
Sunday afternoon. She had quite a clientele of men who 
made a point of calling on her upon that day. 

Lady Tryington did not care much about receiving her 
own sex ; she thought that their presence might be a check 
on the freedom of conversation. But on this particular 
afternoon her two nieces, Laura and Blanche Tryington, 
were with her. 

I^ura Tryington was an extremely beautiful girl. It 
was said that she was an express image of what Lady Try- 
ington had been in her younger days. She was consider- 
ably above the middle height, and possessed a very grace- 
ful figure. Her face was not the Anglo-Saxon type. A 
glance would have shown that there ^vas foreign blood in 
Lady Tryington’ s niece. Her grandmother was a Greek 
by birth, and Laura, with her flashing eyes, flnely-chiseled 
nose, and small but determined mouth and chin, might 
have passed for a beautiful Athenian. 

Blanche, on the other hand, although as many declared 
equally beautiful, was beloAv the middle height, and very 
fair. She was about two years younger than her cousin, 
who had just passed her twenty-first year. Both the Misses 
Tryington had received offers of marriage, but so far no 
man had succeeded in gaining their favor ; and Lady Trying- 


18 


OUR RADICALS, 


experience,” said Lord 


ton, who had been married at the age of eighteen, was be- 
ginning to be a little anxious as to the matrimonial future 
of her nieces. 

” And so, my dear Laura will not marry,” said the old 
Duke of Beaulieu, his palsied hand shaking like an aspen 
leaf, as he put down his cup. 

“No, duke; not even you, if you made the offer,” re- 
plied Lady Tryington. ‘ ‘ It makes me very anxious. ’ ’ 

“ After all,” said Sir Eichard Digby to his aunt, “ Laura 
is wise in her generation ; why should she be in a hurry 
to leave this home, so full of elegance and comfort, to 
marry a man who might turn out indifferently?” 

“You don’t, then, think highly of your sex?” said Lady 
Tryington. 

“No, nor of yours either, aunt. We both build upon 
ideals ; we picture to ourselves the person we love as hav- 
ing every perfection, and the end is, generally speaking, 
deception and disappointment.” 

“Sir Eichard talks as if from 
O’ Hagan Hartoi\. 

“ Digby’ s only experiences have been with the Turks and 
Circassians,” exclaimed Horace Deloony, laughing. 

Horace Deloony was an old diplomate. Some years 
previous he had left the Foreign Office. He now made a 
business of society, and had developed into a perambulat- 
ing journal of all the scandals that had happened and were 
going to happen. Nothing, in his opinion, could go on suc- 
cessfully without his presence. He was of Irish descent, 
and to no ordinary abilities he added a complete mastery 
of the art of repartee. 

“ Horace, you must have been a great lady-killer in your 
day, ’ ’ said Sir Eichard Digby. 

“ Lady-killer!” exclaimed the duke. “ He was a dread- 
ful dog!” 

“ The result being that he is now a discontented, bilious 
old bachelor.” 

These words fell from the lips of Mrs. Eyder, the wife of 
an editor of a powerful society journal. 

She was always welcomed by Lady Tryington, because, 
from her husband’s connection with the press, she had the 
opportunity of bearing the latest news to the tea-table of 
her patroness. 

“ If anything were to happen to Eyder, 1 would propose 
to you at once,” said Horace Deloony, 

“No; that I protest against,” said the duke, emphatic- 
ally. “You are ill-natured enough in conversation; as 
the proprietor of a newspaper you would be unbearable.” 

The wife of the editor smiled. She was rather amused at 
this banter ; it gave her an idea of her own importance. 


OUR RADICALS. 


19 


Although herself of excellent family, she would not have 
dreamed a few years back of being the tried and trusted 
friend of Lady Tryington. 

But things had changed vastly of late. The editors of 
society papers had become too powerful for society to ig- 
nore. The names of its more prominent members were in- 
serted continually, and their actions freely discussed. The 
majority of people, much as they enjoy hearing scandal 
about others, do not at all appreciate it when it affects 
themselves. Some of the editors had gone so far as to have 
their own secret police. Husbands and wives found that 
they lived under a microscopic observation. Mr. Eyder 
was not so modest as many of his contemporary editors ; he 
was known to be a firm friend, but a very bitter foe. As 
most people preferred to have him on their side, Mrs. 
Eyder found herself admitted into the best society. 

“ By the way,” she said, turning to Sir Eichard Digby, 
“I have heard of your bet with Belper. Will you win 
it?” . 

“Upon my word, for the last four days I have been 
somewhat alarmed,” answered Sir Eichard. “ Arthur has 
saved a child from drowning, and now that he means to 
adopt it, my chance of winning the £500 is considerably 
lessened.” 

“ How did the accident occur?” said his aunt. ^ 

And Digby then gave an account of Belper ’s adventure. 

“How very curious and romantic!” said Mrs. Eyder, 
rising from her chair to say good-bye to Lady Tryington. 

“There she goes, to tell her husband to announce it in 
his paper,” said Lord O’Hagan Harton. “What a bore 
these paper people are!” 

“ But you used to write yourself,” said Horace Deloony; 
“and people say that even now you write out all your 
speeches, and give each editor the amount he requires.” 

“People say a good many things, Mr. Deloony,” said 
Lord O’ Hagan Harton, haughtily. “If Ananias were to 
return to the earth he would find himself heavily handi- 
capped in the society of to-day.” 

“ Of course, I do not move in the same sphere as you do, ” 
said Horace Deloony; “but people will talk, and if they 
have no better subject they will talk about you.” 

Lord O’Hagan Harton rose from his seat, and bowing to 
Lady 'Tryington, took his departure. 

“There, you have made an enemy for life,” Lady Try- 
ington said, as Lord O’ Hagan Harton’ s brougham drove 
away from the door. ' 

“ I am quite indifferent to that,” said Deloony.; “my con- 
tempt for him as an enemy is only equaled by my con- 
tempt for him as a statesman.” 


20 


OUR RADICALS. 


‘ ‘ How bitter you are, ’ ’ answered Lady Tryington. ‘ ‘ Peo- 
ple say we women say spiteful things, but we are nowhere 
with a diplomate or a cabinet minister. ’ ’ 

“ I hope, Dick, Mr. Belper has not caught cold after his 
immersion, ’ ’ said Blanche Tryington, who had been con- 
versing at the other end of the room with her cousin dur- 
ing the late passage of words. 

“No, I think not,” replied Sir Eichard. 

“ And so your friend has sworn, like Benedick, to die a 
bachelor,” said Laura Tryington. “Whenever a man 
swears that, like Benedick, he is sure to live long enough 
to eat his words.” 

‘ ‘ And he is really too nice to die so uninteresting a death, ’ ’ 
added Blanche. 

“Eeally!” said Sir Eichard, “if Belper could hear you 
say that, I might even yet win my bet. ’ ’ 

Lady Tryington’ s guests left early that afternoon. She 
took up a copy of the paper edited by Mr. Eyder, and was 
engaged in reading an article, when her footman entei'ed 
the room with a card, which his mistress glanced carelessly 
at. 

Suddenly her countenance betrayed the interest she felt 
in the person announced. 

“What! le Capitaine Victor Delange. Show him in at 
once.” 


CHAPTEE IV. 

Lady Tryington had made the acquaintance of Monsieur 
le Capitaine Victor Delange ten years ago in Paris. He had 
just been appointed as military attache to his embassv. 
Knowing that his old friend Lady Tryington was a leader of 
society, and acquainted with everything pertaining to the 
political world, he took the earliest opportunity of calling 
upon her. 

‘ ‘ So delighted to see you once more. Monsieur le Capi- 
taine,” said Lady Tryington in French. “It is an age 
since we met. I had just seen your appointment an- 
nounced. I am so pleased that it enables us to renew our 
friendship. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ My first visit is to you, ’ ’ said Victor Delange. ‘ ‘ I said 
to myself, who can tell me everything about everybody in 
London; who can post me up in society? Who, only Lady 
Tryington. So here I am.” 

“Well, first of all, you will have a cup of tea. And 
now, what do you want to know? About the last scandal, 
or the new religion; about the elopement or the wedding; 
about the births, or the deaths ; or about politics. Monsieur 


OUR RADICALS. 


SI 


le Capitaine? I am at your disposal; command me, and I 
obey.” 

” A thousand thanks! it is so kind of you; but, my dear 
Lady Tryington, if you remember you told me, when I last 
saw you, about all the troubles that Mr. Gladstone, your 
prime minister, had brought on his country, and how he 
had reduced the rents on your Irish estate. Now, we 
Frenchmen seldom speak English, and our newspapers are 
badly informed as to English matters, so do tell me briefly 
what has happened in your country. You know my pro- 
fession, purely a military one ; but it does not seem well 
for me, although a foreigner, to appear ignorant of what 
every one knows.” 

“ It will not take me long, ” said Lady Tryington. “You 
remember that I could get no rents from my Irish estates, 
and that my agents and bailiffs had been murdered.” 

“Yes; and the horrible assassination of the government 
officials, and the secret compact with the murderers.” 

“ The people at last became disgusted with the govern- 
ment. They clamored for a general election, and they had 
one.” 

“And what happened after the general election?” in- 
quired Victor Delange. “The old prime minister was de- 
feated, was he not ?” 

“Yes,” continued Lady Tryington. “ The Whig fami- 
lies, who had learned that the policy of their chief was one 
calculated to seriously affect the landed interest at home, 
and to make England ridiculous in the eyes of foreign 
powers, used their influence for the Conservative cause. 
We then had a coalition or Liberal-Conservative govern- 
ment. I then sold my Irish estates at twenty years’ pur- 
chase, although some time before I had received an offer of 
thirty- three years; but with all that I am better off than 
the unfortunate loyalists who would not sell their estates, 
and now receive no rents at all. Well, we enjoyed a few 
.years of comfort and peace under the coalition government, 
but our trade suddenly received a terrible check. The^ 
fact was that the United States had paid off their debt and 
had fostered their manufactures by their protective duties 
to such an extent that they could undersell England in her 
own markets, as she had abandoned a protective policy, 
and become a free-trade country. Our hardware districts 
were deluged with cheap American goods. Men were 
thrown out of employment everywhere. At last a cry 
arose for protection. ” 

“ And the ministers?” inquired Victor Delange. 

“Refused to give it. They believed in the principles 
of so-called free trade, which I believe to be an imposi- 
tion.” 


22 


OUn RADICALS. 


“ Certainement^ said the French attache, who, how- 

ever, had hardly followed the remarks of his hostess, but 
who considered it polite to assent. 

‘ ‘ The Eadical party was at that time led by a man of con- 
siderable ability. He had made a large fortune many years 
previous in the pork business in Chicago. Mr. Jonas Cum- 
bermore watched his opportunity. Kadicalism was at that 
time completely severed from the ties which once bound it 
to moderate Liberalism. Mr. Jonas Cumbermore deter 
mined to roast both Conservative and Liberal in the fires 
of their free-ti*ade principles. Apparently oblivious to the 
opinions he had formerly publicly expressed upon the 
question, he resolved that the Eadical party should go in 
for protection. Another general election took place. The 
agriculturists, who had felt very acutely the force of 
foreign competition in corn and cattle, combined with the 
artisans and Irish against the ministers of the day. The 
result was the complete overthrow of the coalition govern- 
ment. Our sovereign in vain looked for a premier from 
the Liberal and Conservative ranks. In the new House of 
Commons three-fourths of the members were sworn follow- 
ers of Mr. Jonas Cumbermore. It was a bitter pill for the 
monarchy to swallow, but there was no alternative. Mr. 
Jonas Cumbermore was summoned to Windsor. He was 
invited to form a cabinet. To this proposal he at once as- 
sented, and for the last eight months the affairs of our 
country have been entirely in the hands of the Eevolution- 
ary Eadical.” 

^‘That means something worse than a Communard,” said 
Victor Delange, “does it not?” 

“ Far worse,” continued Lady Tryington; “at least, that 
is what my friends the Conservatives say. But to resume. 
Our affairs have not prospered. You may remember how 
your nation resented the heavy duties imposed upon her 
manufactures?” 

“You ruined the trade of our people in Belleville in fancy 
goods,” said Victor Delange; “it nearly brought about a 
revolution in Paris.” 

“ Lastly, to add to our misfortunes, the Irish — who some 
time previous were conceded local self-government, and 
who have passed laws calculated to drive every loyalist out 
of the country— are now clamoring to be annexed to the 
United States. You are aware, of course, that the Amer- 
icans have recently largely increased their army and navy ; 
but you will hardly believe that to-day there is a rumor 
that a large band of American filibusters are now on their 
way to aid Ireland in a revolt. To make matters worse, 
there is news that an insurrection has broken out in India, 
and my nephew’s regiment— the 21st Dragoon Guards— has 


OUR RADICALS, 


28 


been ordered to embark immediately. If you will dine here 
on Wednesday you AviU meet him, and I have no doubt 
there will be many subjects upon which you will be mut- 
ually at home in conversation.” 

Victor Delangje took his leave of Lady Tryington, apolo- 
gizing for so long a visit, and receiving an answer that the 
time had passed most pleasantly in his company. 

” I must pay my homage to your beautiful nieces, ” said 
Victor Delange, on leaving. 

“ And you will dine with us on Wednesday.” 


CHAPTER V. 

It was midnight. The telegraph wires were busily at 
work in Metrale’s oflSce, particularly those communicating 
with Downing Street. Several people were waiting in dif- 
ferent rooms for an interview with the chief of police. At 
that moment the lord chancellor was conversing with Mr. 
Metrale in his office. 

“You say it really was to have taken place to-night?” 

“Yes,” answered Metrale. “ I do not believe one of you 
could have escaped.” 

The lord chancellor shuddered. Lord O’Hagan Harton’s 
distress was occasioned by the discovery Metrale had 
made, through one of his female detectives, that another 
attempt had been planned by the Fenians to destroy the 
members of the cabinet. 

“The Fenians are becoming more daring every day,” 
contihued Metrale. ‘ ‘ Hitherto, as you know, they have 
made attempts to destroy buildings by putting dynamite 
in the cellars, or against the walls. They have learned 
that we know most of these devices. They therefore 
changed their tactics, and hit upon the following plan: 
They determined to destroy Mr. Cumbermore’s house, not 
from below, but from above. It appears that there are 
some explosives which ignite so rapidly that their effect is 
just as great in a downward as in an upward direction. 
This fact established, one of the Fenians obtained access to 
the roof of Mr. Cumbermore’s house, and placed fifty 
pounds weight of fulminating mercury on the slates, in a 
straight line above the room where a cabinet council was 
to be held. He connected his infernal machine with the 
telegraph wire that runs over Belgrave Square, and tapped 
that same wire about two miles further off, where it com- 
municates with another building. His emissaries were on 
the watch to signal to him when the ministers arrived in 
Belgrave Square. His intentions were, after allowing you 
half an hour to settle down to business, to connect the wire 
of his battery, and explode the fulminating mercury. If 


24 


OUR RADICALS. 


this had been effected the whole building would have been 
razed to the ground.” 

” How did you detect the plot?” said the lord chancellor. 

“By the merest accident,” answered Metrale. “I had 
desired a female decoy, named Moloney, to ingratiate her- 
self with O’Brien, a suspected Fenian. She did so success- 
fully. O’Brien succumbed to Mrs. Moloney’s charms.” 

Here Lord O’ Hagan Harton shrugged his shoulders con- 
temptuously. 

“You need not be surprised,” said Metrale, laughing. 
“ Mrs. Moloney is an extremely well-proportioned woman, 
and O’Brien is not the first man who has fallen a victim to 
her attractions. The evening before last O’Brien took her 
to his rooms in the Strand. She saw some coils of wire 
lying about, and asked their use. At first O’Brien would 
not tell her. She managed, by those arts which a woman 
has the power to employ, supported by his belief that she 
v^as devoted to the Fenian cause, to get the secret of the 
plot from him. I learned the whole of it four hours before 
the explosion was to have taken place, and I surrounded 
the house in the Strand, and succeeded in arresting 
three of the rebels, including Mrs. Moloney, whom I was 
obliged to take into custody for her own safety.” 

“Things are more serious than ever in Ireland,” said the 
lord chancellor. 

“ Do you think,” said Mr. Metrale, “Mr. Cumbermore 
cares in his heart whether Ireland be annexed to the United 
States or not?” 

“ Yes, I do,” answered Lord O’Hagan Harton. “If Ire- 
land were to be annexed, there can be but little doubt that 
later on England would share Ireland’s fate. Now, Mr. 
Cumbermore is a very ambitious man ; and if once the an- 
nexation took place, all dreams he may have formed as to 
his becoming aU-powerful in this country will be at an 
end.” 

“What with India and Ireland, he has his hands pretty 
full, ” said Metrale. ‘ ‘ The Irish are a terrible nuisance ; but 
this country has treated them like a spoiled child. If I had 
had money at my disposal I could have picked up all the 
links of the chain of conspiracy years ago ; but no. I am 
stinted on every hand, and am therefore unable to employ 
a secret service. Why, in France the police can spend 
reasonable sums, and no questions are asked ; but here, if I 
were to prevent five hundred murders by spending £5000, 
in the first place, if I asked to be repaid I shouldn’t receive 
an answer ; and in the second place, if I complained I should 
be removed from my post.” 

“It is a God-forsaken country, Metrale,” said Lord 
O’ Hagan Harton, “but we must make it last out our own 


OUR RADICALS. 


25 


time. I have sold out everything almost that I possessed 
here, and have invested my money in Australia and the 
United States. My child shall have something to live 
upon, at all events. ’ ’ 

“ No other country in the world would tolerate such a 
state of things,” continued Metrale, who had now thor- 
oughly warmed up upon his favorite grievance, “and the 
more particularly as these secret societies could be sup- 
pressed, even now, at the eleventh hour. Treat Ireland as 
Cromwell treated her, and give me the means of buying in- 
formation.” 

“ Cromwell was a great man,” said the lord chancellor, 
“ but there were no penny and halfpenny newspapers in 
his time. By the way, have you had all -the precautions 
taken for our future safety?” 

“You can rest satisfied, my lord,” said Metrale. “No^ 
expense has been spared to insure your safety and that of 
all the members of the cabinet. ’ ’ 

And the lord chancellor went away, uneasy but reas- 
sured. 


CHAPTER VI. 

It was a lovely afternoon. Blanche and Laura Tryington 
were at Hurlingham with Sir Richard Digby. All the 
world had gone to this popular place of entertainment. 
The great match of the season was to be played between 
Digby’ s regiment and the London garrison. There may be 
room for doubt as to whether many of the thousands of 
people present cared much for polo, or, indeed, under- 
stood anything about the game, but it had been duly an- 
nounced in the papers, Mr, Ryder’s especially, that royalty 
would be present. In spite of the leveling tendency of the 
age, royalty was as safe to call together a large number of 
people as usual. 

The House of Lords had been repeatedly ridiculed by Mr. 
Jonas Cumbermore, and royalty itself had been threatened 
with extinction; but the fact that it had been menaced 
made it, if anything, moi^ popular, and Mr. Cumbermore 
had come to the conclusion that the time for establishing a 
republic in Great Britain had not yet arrived. This was 
undoubtedly due, in a great measure, to the personal pop- 
ularity of the sovereign, for caucuses had been hard at 
work for several years past, endeavoring to undermine the 
loyalty of the people. Tracts had been scattered broadcast ' 
in the hardware district, showing how much the throne 
had cost the country. One Mr. Buttertongue had ■ made a 
calculation of the amount expended by sovereigns of Eng- 
land since the days of the Conquest. He had shown that 


26 


OUR RADICALS. 


this sum, if put out at compound interest, would have paid 
off the national debt of every country on the globe, and in 
addition have left a balance that would, if invested at three 
per cent., have given every man, woman, and child in Mel- 
tingborough three shillings per diem for life. 

This attack upon royalty, coming shortly after the abol- 
ition of perpetual pensions and the reduction of the retired 
allowances for officers in the army, had not the desired 
effect. The masses were more loyal than they had been 
before. 

But to resume. Hurlingham was crowded. All the cab- 
inet ministers’ wives and daughters were present. A tent 
was set apart for the friends of officers competing in the 
match, and here Sir Richard Digby found a place for the 
ladies of his party. 

“I am afraid you will see very little of the polo,” ob- 
served Sir Richard to Lady Tryington. 

“Polo, Dick!” exclaimed Lady Tryington; “do you 
think I came to see polo?” 

“ Well, that was the idea I had in my mind.” 

“ Nothing of the kind,” said Lady Tryington. “ I came 
here with Blanche and Laura for them to see, and be seen, 
especially the latter. Is not that your friend Mr. Belper,” 
she continued, “ who is talking with the Duke of Cumber- 
land?” 

His royal highness had known Belper for several years, 
and was at the time congratulating him upon his rescue of 
the little boy, an embellished account of which he had 
read in Ryder’s journal. 

“What do you mean to do with him?” inquired the 
prince. 

“I have been trying, sir, to find his parents, but have 
failed. Metrale has not yet obtained any clew to guide him 
in the search.” 

“ There is apparently some mystery,” said the prince. 

“There is Metrale talking to Mrs. Cumbermore,” con- 
tinued Belper. “I cannot help thinking that he knows 
more about the matter than he cares to acknowledge.” 

“ Perhaps,” answered the prince; “ see, they are expect- 
ing you to mount.” 

Belper was in the act of leaving the inclosure, when his 
eye fell upon Lady Tryington and her two nieces. He rode 
up and cordially welcomed them. Lady Tryington was 
very civil to him, for she had taken in the importance of 
the fact that he was on such good terms with the Duke of 
Cumberland. Since that conversation he had risen fifty 
per cent, in Lady Tryington’ s estimation. 

Blanche soon attracted Belper’ s attention. To-day she 
looked more beautiful than usual, he thought, as their eyes 


OUR RADICALS, 


met, and she put out her little gloved hand, reminding 
him, as she stood bathed in the golden stream of the sun’s 
rays, of one of Murillo’s madonnas, which he had seen in 
the Museo at Madrid. While they were conversing a tre- 
mendous rush of people occurred close to the inclosure. 

“It is only a rush of people eager to see the prince,” 
said Belper. 

‘ ‘ Now Mrs. Cumbermore will arise for the occasion, ” said 
Sir Richard Digby ; “for, in spite of her husband’s opin- 
ions, she is never so happy as when royalty favors her with 
an arm.” 

“ I suppose you consider that a proof of the fickleness 
of our sex, ’ ’ said Lady Tryington. 

‘ ‘ Only toward husbands, ’ ’ said Sir Richard, laughing. 

“ What a beautiful rose that is you are wearing!” Belper 
was saying to Blanche Tryington ; “it reminds me of the 
one that Lothair gave to Lady Corisande. There was a 
great meaning hidden in that simple gift.” 

“ If this one would bring you good luck to-day you are 
welcome to it,” said Blanche Tryington, blushing as she 
gave the young officer the rose. 

“Not to-day only, but always,” he answered, gallantly, 
as he rode off, looking ‘ ‘ the brightest knight that ever 
waved a lance.” 

“I wonder what brings Lord O’H^an Harton here?” 
said Lady Tryington. “I had no idea he cared about 
polo. ’ ’ 

“ Probably not,” said Sir Richard Digby; “ but the same 
reason that brought you may have brought him.” 

‘ ‘ And he is talking to the Duke of Cumberland, ’ ’ added 
Lady Tryington. “ See, he is whispering in the duke’s ear 
some state secret, no doubt.” 

‘ ‘ More likely some epigram which he has studied and 
learned by heart, to produce upon this occasion,” said De- 
loony, who was one of the party. 

“ How bitter you are toward him,” observed Lady Try- 
ington. “ I shall really begin to think you have been 
crossed by him in some affair of the heart.” 

Blanche all this time was leaning over the rails, eagerly 
watching the game. She could see that Belper was gradu- 
ally obtaining possession of the ball, and driving it out of 
the reach of his opponents. 

‘ ‘ Capital I’ ’ said Sir Richard Digby. ‘ ‘ Arthur is playing 
splendidly; we shall win the match.” 

‘ ‘ Look, ’ ’ observed Laura, ‘ ‘ he does not notice the man 
on the opposite side. See, he is about to charge him. ’ ’ 

Warned by a friendly shout, the young officer turned his 
head, but too late to avoid the collision. The two ponies 
had come together, and Belper was thrown to the ground. 


OUR RADICALS, 


^8 

One foot was caught in the stirrup-iron, and the pony, 
frightened and excited, dashed across the ground, dragging 
Belper with him. Blanche had turned deadly pale, and, if 
it had not been for Metrale, who was standing near, and 
rushed to her assistance, she would have fallen to the 
ground. Sir Richard Digby returned to the ladies. He, 
with others, had succeeded in catching the pony. Belper 
had been stunned, and was being attended to by a surgeon. 
Blanche now opened her eyes, and, endeavoring to regain 
self-possession, rose from her chair. 

“Do not move,” said the baronet. “I will have your 
aunt ’^carriage brought round here, and will take Belper 
back in my brougham. ’ ’ 

“ I hope he is not seriously hurt,” she said. 

“ No, not seriously,” answered Sir Richard Digby; and, 
assisting her to rise, he placed her in Lady Tryington’s 
carriage, and then rejoined his brother officer. 

Dr. Planselle was in the act of binding up Belper’ s head, 
which had been cut open by the pony’s hoofs. 

“ Very fortunate that I was here!” the medical gentle- 
man was remarking. ‘ ‘ Very fortunate. ’ ’ 

“ I’ll bet you two to one he will make a point of telling 
us the wound is exactly like one received in a similar acci- 
dent by the Duke of Cumberland,” whispered Deloony to 
Metrale. ‘ ‘ Old Planselle dearly loves to air his acquaint- 
ance with royalty.” 

“ Done!” said Metrale, laughing. “ In half-crowns; but 
I shall lose. See, Ryder is approaching.” 

“Ah! glad to see you here, doctor,” said Ryder, push- 
ing his way through the crowd. ‘ ‘ Nothing serious, I 
hope?” 

“Nothing immediately serious,” replied the medical 
gentleman. “Perfect rest, perfect rest, my dear sir; as I 
said not long ago to his royal highness the Duke of Cum- 
berland, after an accident on the ice, when I was called in. 
Rest, perfect rest, is all that is required. The Marchioness 
of Colleonic, when she fell from her horse in the Row, was 
another instance of the value of perfect rest.” 

“ He will go through the entire peerage if you do not in- 
terfere,” said Metrale to Digby; and an officer, raising 
Arthur in his arms, carried him, with the assistance of the 
doctor, to his carriage. 

“ I will call to-morrow morning to see him, on my way 
from the Duchess of Montreal. ’ ’ 

And Dr. Planselle left them to drive away, while he 
walked home with Mr. Ryder, who managed to eke out of 
the physician every particular of the accident for publica- 
tion in the next issue of the Scrawler. 


OUR RADICALS, 


39 


CHAPTER VII. 

Dr. Planselle was sitting by Arthur’s bedside. Digby 
rested on the other side of the couch, and Eugene was hold- 
ing a tray on which had been placed a medicine-bottle and 
a wine-glass. 

“Really,” said the doctor, leaving his patient for a mo- 
ment and turning to the little lad, “ I think your protege 
wants my services more than you do yourself, he is so pale 
with watching. In ten days you may leave your room, 
Belper, and in two months you may go back to your regi- 
ment.” 

“Not before two months!” exclaimed Belper. “Why, 
we are under orders for India, and may sail at any time.’’ 

“Not for India,” interrupted Sir Richard Digby. “I 
met the adjutant-general in Pall Mall a few hours ago. He 
told me it was more hkely we should be sent to Ireland. 
Things there, it appears, are worse than ever. Five thou- 
sand Fenians from America landed yesterday, and the 
whole country has taken up arms.” 

A tap was heard at the door, and Eugene went into the 
passage, and returned with a card. 

It was fromXady Tryington, to inquire after Mr. Belper, 
and to ask if Sir Richard Digby was with him. 

“ I will go down and see her,” said Digby. 

Lady Tryington was in a great state of excitement. The 
doctor had ordered Blanche immediate change of air. It 
was the middle of the season, and Laura did not like leav- 
ing town ; however, as Blanche’s hfe was at stake. Lady 
Tryington had determined to fall in with the physician’s 
advice. He had recommended a voyage in a sailing-ves- 
sel. Lady Tryington remembered that her nephew had a 
large yacht. He had lately wished to part with his vessel, 
and had mentioned the fact to his aunt. She determined 
to find out whether he would sell the ship to her, and she 
accordingly broached the subject. 

“ Certainly not, my dear aunt; but you are quite wel- 
come to the yacht as often and as long as you choose to use 
it. The crew are in her. ’ ’ 

Now, Lady Tryington, although well off in the world’s 
estate, was not rich. It had already occurred to her that 
the purchase of a yacht would entail a considerable outlay. 
She was, therefore, highly pleased with her nephew’s offer, 
and, after thanking him many times for his kindness, ac- 
cepted his proposal. 

“ And how is Mr. Belper to-day?” 

“ Much better; he will be out very soon. But when do 
you start and where do you propose going?” 


30 


OUR RADICALS. 


“ As soon as the ship is ready to receive us, and the doc- 
tor recommends the Mediterranean. It will be a complete 
change for poor, dear Blanche, And Laura is looking 
fagged, after all her balls ; I am sure it will do her good 
too. Good-bye, now ; I have to pay some visits. ’ ’ 

When Digby returned to the room he found the doctor 
gone, and Arthur busily engaged in the perusal of a letter. 
It was from Metrale, informing Belper of the dangerous 
nature of the Fenian conspiracy, and hinting that the Irish 
leaders might have some object to gain in killing Eugene, 
at the same time recommending him to guard the boy very 
closely. 

‘ ‘ I have heard rumors of this new form of tyranny, but 
never attached much credence to it,” said Digby. 

“Well,” said Arthur, “if there is one place where he 
will be safe more than another, it is in barracks or with 
the regiment.” 

“Why not enlist him as a drummer?” inquired Digby. 

‘ ‘ He has been too well educated, and I have determined 
to look after him myself,” said Arthur, emphatically. 

“ I often wonder how it is you have never married,” Sir 
Richard Digby said, after a long pause, during which Bel- 
per had fallen into a light sleep. “You would make a 
model husband.” 

A shade of sadness passed over Belper’ s face. 

“ It is a matter of duty that I should remain unmarried. 
You do not understand me.” 

“No; explain.” 

“ It is a family curse,” said Belper. 

“ You are suffering from the effects of your fall,” said 
Sir Richard; “let us talk of something else.” 

“No, Dick; I am not delirious, as you imagine. I am 
perfectly calm.” 

“Well, then?” 

‘ ‘ You will readily understand, when I tell you there is 
insanity in my family. It misses one or two generations, 
only to appear with redoubled force in the second or third. 
Why should I perpetuate, as in all probability I should, 
this fearful malady? I am the last of my race. Let it die 
with me. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER VIII. 

It was a wet and windy day. To make matters worse, a 
thick fog hung along the side of the Thames embankment. 
It threw an impenetrable darkness over the houses in that 
nmghborhood. Few people were in the streets, and those 
who could be seen by the aid of the lamps were, judging 


OUR RADICALS, 


31 


from their appearance, compelled to be out more as a mat- 
ter of necessity than from any other cause. 

One man, rather better dressed than the others, was hur- 
riedly walking down a narrow street which led from the 
river to the Strand. He looked behind him as he crossed 
the road, and more than once he stopped, and listened 
carefully to hear if he were being followed. Not a footfall 
fell. A dead stillness reigned around. To make assurance 
doubly sure, he turned and retraced his steps for about a 
hundred yards. Not a soul was to be seen. Even the 
woman who kept a coffee-stall at the corner of the street, 
thinking probably that on such an afternoon she would 
have no customers, had betaken herself to a neighboring 
public house. 

“None of Metrale’s men are about, ” said the man to him- 
self ; ‘ ‘ and now to metamorphose myself. ’ ’ 

He then proceeded to tear off a false gray wig and beard, 
at the same time removing a pair of spectacles from his 
nose. Before this had been done he might have pacsed for 
a man of sixty years of age, but now no one would have 
put him down as being more than thirty. To complete the 
transformation, he took off his coat, and, having turned 
it inside out, put it on again. The inner lining was of a 
grayish hue, and made of a cloth material, so that the coat 
presented no unusual appearance in being worn in this 
manner. 

Turning on his heel, Barry proceeded slowly along the 
street until he came to the Embankment. Presently he saw, 
a little in front of him, a man dressed exactly as he himself 
had been a few minutes before. A woman was walking a 
few yards behind the man, shabbily dressed, but as she 
passed under the light of the lamps it was easy to see that 
pjhe was young and very handsome. Barry coughed twice 
as a sort of signal, crossed the street and proceeded in 
another direction. 

‘ ‘ What idiots these detectives are !” he thought. ‘ ‘ Here 
Metrale, for the last three months, has been on the track of 
my double, little thinking that the real Barry is at work on 
a plan to set all London in a blaze.” 

Presently he arrived at a semi-detached, dilapidated- 
looking building, used apparently for storing wood. 

An announcement on the door informed the public that 
coffins on the most approved pattern could be supplied at 
wholesale prices by Messrs. Davies & Bailey. A tall 
wooden mast protruded from the roof of the building. To 
this were attached some fifty different telegraph wires, 
which extended to various parts of the metropolis. 

Nothing in the old house itself would have attra-cted the 
attention of the 'bystander, save that it had a deserted and 


32 


OUR RADICALS. 


dismal aspect. Barry, taking a bunch of keys from his 
pocket, selected the one which opened the door of this 
house. 

Proceeding a few yards down the hall, he touched a 
spring in the wall, which opened a door the size of an 
ordinary brick. Taking two india-rubber tubes from his 
pocket, he screwed them into the sides of the aperture, 
and then placed the two ends to his ears. He had impro- 
vised a telephone, there being a concealed wire which . 
reached from the door to the mast, and which was in com- 
munication with the lines that passed over the building. 

“ Anything stirring near the Tower?” he inquired. 

A clear and distinct voice answered in the negative. 

“Near Buckingham Palace?” 

“No.” 

“Near the War Office?” 

“ Yes, ” the voice answered. 

“Good,” answered Barry; “in an hour at the usual 
place.” 

Pressing the spring the door flew back again, and only a 
person initiated into the secret could have discovered its 
whereabouts. 

Placing the tubes again in his pocket, he left the house 
and continued his walk, this time in the direction of Vic- 
toria Station. 

Just by the Grosvenor Hotel he was accosted by a woman 
who appeared to be begging alms of the passers-by. 

“Take this,” said Barry, passing a coin into her hand. 

She at once rose from her recumbent position and crossed 
the street. On reaching the other side she gave some sig- 
nal to Barry, who followed her course on the opposite side 
of the road. Suddenly she stopped, and, looking round 
once to see if she were followed, disappeared down the 
area steps of a house. 

Barry crossed the street. By the time he had reached 
the opposite pavement the front door of the house was 
opened, and Barry, without any hesitation, entered the 
portico, the door closing behind him. 

“ Here I am,” said a woman’s voice. The woman struck 
a match into a flame as she spoke. “This way.” And 
Barry followed her up one flight of stairs and entered a 
room. “Wait one moment,” she said; “I will get rid of 
these clothes.” 

She entered an adjoining room, and in a few minutes re- 
turned to Barry. 

No one, not even Barry himself, wouid have recognized 
in the well-dressed young man of twenty-two years, who 
now entered the room, the tattered hag who had asked 
alms of the passers-by. 


OUR RADICALS. 


BB 

“ Capital !” said Barry, laughing. “ Metrale thinks his 
women-detectives wonderfully clever, but they are chil- 
dren, compared with ours, Maggie.” 

“Where are you going to-night?” said the other. 

“ To Metrale’ s. He has a party in Harley Street. Sev 
eral cabinet-ministers will be there, and not a few diplo- 
mates. I know the French military attache, from meeting 
him at my club. He thinks I am a Canadian, and it is 
with him I am going. O’ Hagan Harton and Mr. Cumber' 
more will be there.” 

“A nicely-arranged programme, to be turned to some 
good, I doubt not,” answered the other. 

“Yes; I mean to take a run through the thieves’ quar- 
ters with one of Metrale’ s men. You may happen to dis- 
cover one or two informers.” 

“ Have you heard anything more of Eugene?” 

“ He is still with Belper; but his uncle, who has learned 
the fate we had prepared for the boy, ignores our threats. 
He received an anonymous letter the day after the event, 
telling him to look in the Scrawler, and he would learn how 
nearly Eugene’s life had paid for his opposition to our 
cause.” 

“ It is a pity Eugene’s mother is dead,” was the answer. 
“ It is the soft hearts of the women we should work upon. 
If she were alive, and believed her son in danger of death 
by fire, we might count upon the old lord’s influence against 
us being at an end:” 

“Leave a woman to break a woman’s heart,” thought 
Barry, as he parted from his accomplice. 

Barry mounted to the attic of the house. He placed a 
hand -ladder under a wmdow in the center of the ceiling. 
With some little difficulty he succeeded in opening the 
shutter and climbing on to the roof. He cautiously made 
his way along the housetops for some distance, crawling 
where the slanting roof precluded the possibility of stand- 
ing on his feet, and at times steadying himself against a 
chimney. In less than ten minutes he reached a house that 
had, to all appearances, been recently constructed. Ap- 
proaching a window, with as little noise as possible, he 
looked through the glass. Several people were in a room 
below. After scanning their countenances for a few min- 
utes, Barry tapped three times on the slates. In answer to 
the signal a ladder was drawn from one side of the garret 
wall and placed under the window. In a few seconds Barry 
had descended by the ladder into the room. 

“ You are all here?” he inquired. 

“ No, master; Maggie is missing.” 

“I have seen her, Mike,” Barry replied; “she has her 
orders. I have some serious business to report to-night. 


84 


OUR RADICALS. 


Be seated. You know that our plan to destroy Mr. Cum- 
bermore’s house failed, and that several of our men are in 
custody ; but one thing I think you have yet to learn— how 
Metrale discovered our plot. A traitor has been in our 
midst,” he continued, sternly. “ He sold us, not for gold, 
but for a woman’s embraces; for a thing as fickle as public 
opinion in this country, which lauds a man to the skies in 
one moment, and hoots him down without a hearing in the 
next.” 

“Who is the traitor?” exclaimed two or three, fiercely. 

“Ay, tell us the traitor’s name!” shouted Mike Lambish. 

“ It is useless at present to let you know,” said Barry. 
“He suffers with the rest in prison; perhaps he may 
divulge more of our plans that we have confided to him. 
I mention the fact to put you on your guard, and to remind 
you of the oaths you took as members of this association, 
that the most fearful death the ingenuity of man can 
devise shall be the punishment of all who betray their asso- 
ciates.” 

Barry now turned to his lieutenant. 

“ Have you,” he said, “ executed my orders?” 

“Yes,” was the reply; “all but one. We have been un- 
able as yet to recapture Eu^ne.” 

“ That should not be a difficult task,” said Barry. 

“ What report have you to make of Mr. Cumbermore, 
Michael?” he continued, addressing another of the circle. 

“ That he is not to be reached through the affections, 
sir. He loves neither woman nor child more than him- 
self.” 

“ When do the steamers start for Bubhn with English 
reinforcements?” 

“To-morrow evening,” answered another, who had been 
ordered to investigate the subject. 

“ How did you obtain your information?” said the chief. 

“Through a woman in the telegraph office; but not to 
rely solely on a woman’s word, I have corroborated her 
statement by tapping the wire, and reading the return 
message which passed an hour ago from the colonel of 
the 21st Dragoon Guards to the War Office. The City of 
Rome will take the troops.” 

“ Are any of our people among the crew?” 

“ Only one; he is below, if you would like to see him.” 

“ Bring him here,” said the chief, at the same time plac- 
ing a black mask on his face, the other conspirators follow- 
ing his example. 

The man was brought in. 

“You know the value of your oath?” said the Fenian 
leader to him. 

“Yes,” replied the man, seemingly much alarmed. 


OUR RADICALS. 


as 

“ You sail in the City of Rome to-morrow?” 

” Yes, ” answered the man, timidly; “but you do not 
wish any one else poisoned?” 

“No,” said Barry; “ on this occasion I shall be satisfied 
if you will take with you as kitchen lad during the passage 
a young fellow in whom I am interested.” 

“No more deaths, I trust!” said the man, shivering. 

“Silence, fool! if it be necessary to wade knee- deep in 
English blood we must do so for Ireland’s sake.” 

‘ ‘ Ireland forever !’ ’ shouted aU the Fenians ; and the cook, 
led away by the enthusiasm of the moment, joined feebly in 
the cry. 

He was a mulatto, and had been a cook in Dublin for 
some years, where he had become affiliated to the Fenian 
association. He was of a cowardly disposition, and when 
aware of his fate if he betrayed his comrades, he had been 
easily induced to obey the orders of his chiefs. A few 
months before this meeting he had received instructions to 

E oison the chief secretary for Ireland, in whose household 
e was employed. The official, however, did not faU into 
the trap set for him, but his unfortunate wife had done so, 
and had died in great agony. The mulatto, at once sus- 
pected, had been able to clear himself from the accusation 
and an innocent man suffered in his place. This crime 
placed the wretched mulatto more in the Fenians’ power 
than he had been before. 

“There are no further orders for to day,’’ said Barry to 
his other followers ; and, turning once more to the cook, he 
added: “Remember, you expect a kitchen lad on board 
the City of Rome ; he will give you the password. Now 
go.” 

Soon afterward the conspirators separated, several of 
them making their exit by the roof, and taking the course 
their chief had done before. Barry waited a few minutes 
after his followers had departed. Lifting up a plank in the 
fioor, he took from beneath it some attire that from its ap- 
pearance seemed at one time to have belonged to a stone- 
mason. Rapidly dressing himself in these garments, he 
descended the staircase and walked out into the street 
below. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A NUMBER of carriages were blocking the way in Hariey 
Street. Some of the footmen, by the strange cockades they 
wore, were evidently servants of foreigners. Lmkinen 
were busy calling up broughams, and 
their owners to pass through the crowd that ^he 

entrance to Mr. Metrale’s house. It was the first time that 


OUR RADICALS. 


^56 

season that the chief of the police had thrown open his 
salon. Almost every well-known man in London had re- 
ceived an invitation. Embassa'dors jostled with actors; 
the head of the fire brigade with the commander-in-chief ; 
the Archbishop of Canterbury with Mr. Bullneck, the infi- 
del; professors of philosophy with high-church curates; 
authors with artists. 

It was a strange assembly. 

Metrale’s parties were considered to be the most enter- 
taining of their kind in London. “Smoke and talk ” were 
printed on the cards of invitation that he sent out, and 
talk his guests did on every conceivable topic, and helped 
themselves to the choicest regalias, which were ever at 
hand. Down-stairs, in a large supper-room, a light but 
substantial repast was always upon the table. The attrac- 
tions above were, however, greater than to allow of justice 
being done to the viands. 

A well-known actor began to recite a short but excellent 
piece. The burst of applause which followed his effort was 
a proof of its favorable reception. 

Two young men were standing close to the performer. 
One of them wore the ribbon of the Legion of Honor in his 
coat. As Metrale advanced to meet the actor, this gentle- 
man moved forward, and shaking the chief of the police by 
the hand, asked to he allowed to introduce his friend Mr. 
Monier Ballard, a Canadian gentleman. 

‘ ‘ Certainly — with pleasure. ’ ’ 

And the chief of the Fenians was presented to the chief 
of the police. 

“ I have come to study your interesting customs,” said 
Monier Ballard. 

“ In any way that I can assist you in your study, I shall 
be pleased.” 

Thanks ; I shall remind you of your promise. ’ ’ 

“I will make a note of it, Mr. Ballard. Your address 
is?” 

“ Alcibiades Club, Piccadilly.” 

And with a pleasant bow, Mr. Metrale moved away to 
speak with other guests. 

Sir Richard Digby approached the Frenchman. 

“I am so pleased to meet you,” said the French 
attache. “ I hardly know any one here, and yet I am act- 
ing as cicerone to my friend Mr. Monier Ballard. Let me 
present him to you.” 

“By all means,” said Digby. The introduction then 
took place. 

“Now,” said Victor Delange, “tell me what celebrities 
are here. That tall, pale, but somewhat stout gentleman, 
for instance; where have I met him?” 


OUR RADICALS. 


37 


“ That is Ricardius, the president of the Alcibiades Club. 
He is quite a character, and is talking to Wild Thyne, the 
cynic of the period. Let us join them, ” 

After an introduction of the two gentlemen to the party, 
Ricardius observed : 

“We were having an extremely illuminating discussion. 
It will be interesting. Monsieur Victor, to hear your opinion 
on the subject.” 

“ Two to one the question is about the women,” said De- 
loony, coming up at the time. 

“You are right, ’ ’ said Wild Thyne. ‘ ‘ They bring us into 
the world, cause most of our misfortunes in it, and kill 
more of us than diseases and doctors together. Ricardius 
wishes to have women admitted into the Alcibiades. ’ ’ 

“ Only divorced and unmarried women,” said Ricardius. 

“I tell him,” continued Wild Thyne, “we shall all be set 
by the ears in less than a week, if his idea is carried into 
eifect. They will want representatives on the committee, 
and will blackball, perhaps, the most agreeable men.” 

“Yet you are for women sitting at Westminster,” said 
Digby. ‘ ‘ If that principle is correct, why should you object 
to them in your club?” 

“I will tell you,” answered Wild Thyne. “I admire a 
beautiful creature who is for woman’s rights, and I flatter 
her by taking up the question. I know it will never be 
carried, so what harm is don#. ’ ’ 

“ Then you believe in the tender passion?” said Digby. 

“No, only in self-interest. Metrale does not love any of 
us, but we make his parties go pleasantly. He invites you 
and me. We eat his oysters and drink his Pommery. 
Reciprocity of interest. Do you think Lord O’ Hagan 
Harton cares two oyster-shells for Metrale, or Metrale for 
him? No. The lord chancellor values his personal safety, 
and if he honors Metrale by his presence here, more care 
is used to guard him from the i’enians. Metrale, again, 
hopes for an increase of salary out of the taxpayers through 
the minister. Wheels within wheels. Reciprocity of in- 
t erest, gentlemen ; nothing more. ” 

■'Vith these concluding words Wild Thyne turned on his 
heel and walked to another part of the room. 

“ A queer character,” said Deloony, laughing. 

‘‘Yes,” said Mr. Ryder, who had heard the last words of 
Wild Thyne; “as Diogenes was vain of his tub, so he is 
proud of his cynicism. 

“ He is a good-hearted fellow,” added Digby; “ although 
he prefers to be credited with half the crimes in the New- 
gate calendar rather than to l;iear one of his good action^ 
repeated. ” 


38 


OUR RADICALS, 


Meantime Metrale, who had been walking among his 
guests, recognized Digby, and advanced toward him. 

“ So you sail to-morrow?” said Metrale. 

“ Yes, ” replied the baronet. “We have only this after- 
noon received our orders, but I could not leave without 
coming here to thank you for your kindness to Belper. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I hope he is better. ’ ’ 

“Yes; but he will not be able to move with the regi- 
ment. Eugene will go with his soldier servant to Dublin 
with Belper’ s luggage. ’ ’ 

“I congratulate you on going to the seat of war,” said 
Victor Delange. 

“ There is, I fear, little to congratulate us upon,” said Sir 
Richard ; “ it is a miserable affair. ’ ’ 

“ The conspiracy should have been nipped in the bud,” 
said Metrale. 

“Naturally,” added Sir Richard; “and if, before the 
leaders of the Irish steeped themselves to the lips in trea- 
son, martial law had been proclaimed, the Fenian move- 
ment would have been long ago at an end. Moreover, Ire- 
land should have been temporarily deprived of her members 
of Parliament.” 

“But would that have put an end to the secret societies?” 
said the Canadian. 

‘ ‘ No, ’ ’ said Metrale, ‘ ‘ nothing will put an end to them, 
save money and counter secret societies. But I have a 
plan which I think will be the means of destroying the 
traitors,” and he turned once more to his other guests. 

The Duke of Beaulieu entered the room at that moment. 
He had just returned from the House of Commons, where 
he had been listening to an important debate. It had been 
brought on by Mr. Bullneck, who had moved that, as Eng- 
land was a peace-loving nation, and as the inhabitants of 
India were now trying to retake from us what we had 
taken from them by force and treachery in the last cent- 
ury, it was expedient that British forces be immediately 
withdrawn from Hindostan. 

“You know,” said O’Hagan Harton to Metrale, “for a 
long time past there has been a cry that India costs us 
more than she brings us in; not that this really is the 
case, but it was felt that it would be convenient to have 
an excuse for retiring to niake way for Russia, who is 
always ready to advance. With Russia in possession of a 
railroad from the Caspian to Herat and Candahar, our 
position in India has been one of sufferance for some years 
past.” 

“What was the result of the debate?” said Metrale: 
“ did they divide?” 

“Yes,” said the Duke of Beaulieu; “and the curious 


OUR RADICALS. 


39 


part of the story has to come. You remember it was 
decided a few months ago that all voting in the House of 
Commons should be by ballot. Since then it has been 
extremely difficult for the whips to estimate what the 
majority would be. This evening Snapper, the whip, in- 
formed me that in all probability there would be a ma- 
jority of fifty for Bullneck. Almost every one spoke in 
favor of the motion ; but after the votes had been counted 
it was found that not more than twenty members were 
voting with Bullneck.” 

“The fact is,” said Lord O’Hagan Harton, “members 
are afraid of their constituencies, and vote in favor of 
measures of which they quite disapprove.” 

“Then India is not to be given up?” said Sir Eichard 
Digby. 

“Thank Heaven, there is some little patriotism left in 
the House!” said Metrale. 

“ Oh, we are going to the dogs as fast as we can!” said 
the duke. 

“Any more news about Ireland?” asked Sir Eichard 
Digby. 

“ The old story. Only a few women and children burned 
to death, ” replied the lord chancellor; “and the Fenians 
are reported to have landed from America.” 

“When will there be an end of it?” said Sir Eichard 
Digby, despairingly. 

By this time the company had broken up into little knots 
for conversation. The smoke was so thick that it was diffi- 
cult to recognize any one across the room, and it enabled 
the Canadian gentleman to pass about unobserved, and 
gather from the fragments of conversation some valuable 
information. 

He and Captain Victor Delange were almost the last to 
depart from a room which that evening had held beneath 
its roof representatives of art, science, literature, and poli- 
tics, and even of Fenianism itself. 


CHAPTEE X. 

Eeveille had sounded at daybreak in the Harnston bar- 
racks. Everything was in preparation for an early march. 
A number of large vans, drawn by horses, were filled with 
the penates of the men and officers of the 21st Dragoon 
Guards. Soldiers in their shirt-sleeves were giving the last 
rub-down to their troop horses. Women were trying to 
discover a spare place for some small piece of furniture 
they could not find it in their hearts to abandon ; and there 
was the usual apparent confusion which is to be seen in 


40 


OUR RADICALS. 


every barracks in the kingdom the last three hours before 
a regiment shifts its quarters. 

“I shall not be sorry when we are out of this,” said stout 
Dr. Allenby to his friend Tom Ostend. ‘ ‘ In the last half- 
hour I have been sent for to the orderly-room at least a 
dozen times. The married women and children give so 
much trouble. The adjutant says that these people are 
under my special charge, and that I must see in what order 
they leave their quarters, and that their rooms are left in 
a proper sanitary condition before we march. ’ ’ 

“You will have old Titus down on you if you are not 
careful. He told me he intended going round the barracks 
himself. He is in one of his tantrums this morning ; proba- 
bly because her ladyship has announced her intention of 
embarking with him. ’ ’ 

“ If he bullies us,” said the doctor, “there is one conso- 
lation — he gets well bullied himself. ’ ’ 

“The old man looked quite pleased,” said Ostend, 
“when he received the telegram ordering us to start at 
once for Dublin ; and did you see how his face fell when 
Lady Mulligan announced her intention of accompanying 
him?” 

“There he is,” said the doctor, “in a fidget, as usual. 
He is gesticulating at the adjutant. I suppose I must go 
and look after those confounded women.” 

“ And I to my troop stable,” added Captain Ostend. 

Sir Titus Mulligan, who commanded the 21st Dragoon 
Guards, was a short, slim man. His bronzed face and 
many medals showed that he had seen much service in 
many different parts of the globe. He was about forty- 
seven years of age, and was looked upon as a martinet by 
his regiment. In private life he was agreeable and pleasant 
enough, but in barracks he was extremely strict. Before 
his marriage to Mrs. O’Donnell, a widow lady about four 
years younger than himself, he had been frequently on 
leave of absence for weeks at a time, leaving the manage- 
ment of the barracks in the hands of his second in com- 
mand and his adjutant. But since his marriage, whether 
it was to escape from Lady Mulligan, or from some more 
chivalrous cause, he had hardly ever been out of the bar- 
rack-yard. The men were kept burnishing steel accouter- 
ments from morning to night. 

Sir Titus had been quartered for some time in India, and 
he now found that the cold east winds of England were 
very trying to his liver. He had been hoping to receive 
instructions to embark his regiment for Hindostan, but the 
telegram from the War Office had countermanded the 
original orders, and he was forced to proceed to Ireland. 
To crown his misfortunes. Lady Mulligan, who never let 


OUR RADICALS, 


41 


him have a moment’s peace, and who was seldom out of 
the barracks, had announced her intention of accompany- 
ing him. India, he knew, would have been too remote a 
quarter of the globe for his wife ; but Dublin was quite an- 
other place, and there would, in all probability, be enter- 
tainments at the Local Self-Government Lodge of a suf- 
ficently exclusive order to allow of her presence there. 

Just outside the barrack-gates stood a detached villa, 
which had been rented for six months by Sir Titus, and 
before the door of this residence stood three enormous vans 
filled with the household goods of Lady Mulligan. She 
was screaming in a high key from a window to some men 
engaged in packing boxes of glass and china, that they 
were not to economize their straw. 

Meanwhile her husband was striding round the barracks 
finding fault with his men for the most trivial things. 

“ Such things never occurred in my time, sir,” he was 
shouting to Captain Ostend. “When I was subaltern 
there were no competitive examinations. We had not to 
learn Chaucer by heart, or digest Shakespeare ; but we had 
to study cleanliness. Look at that horse ! he has not been 
properly groomed ; put your finger on the animal’s shoul- 
der. Not there, sir! Gad! the man doesn’t know his 
shoulder from his hoof.” 

“ D n it, there’s no pleasing him now!” said Captain 

Ostend, as the commander passed on. “ If it were not for 
Adjutant Careful, who keeps him in some sort of bounds, I 
should have sent my papers in long ago. ’ ’ 

Adjutant Careful was a very different man from his 
chief. He was the only officer in the regiment of whom 
Lady Mulligan stood in awe. Careful’s calm and phleg- 
matic manner had the effect of cold water on her gushing 
temperament. She did not fail to urge her husband to use 
his influence against Careful. His adjutant, however, gave 
him no opportunity to And any fault with the performance 
of his military duties. He knew his work quite as well, if 
not better, than his colonel, and was twice as popular as 
that oflicer in the regiment. 

The colonel had duly visited the stables, and was on the 
point of returning to the mess-room, when Dr. Allenby ap- 
peared. 

“I have inspected all the married people’s quarters,” 
said the doctor. 

As the doctor was speaking an open carriage entered 
the barrack-yard, containing the colonel’s wife and her 
sister. 

“Dr. Allenby!” exclaimed Lady Mulligan. In spite of 
his corpulence, the doctor ran rather than walked to the 
barouche. 


42 


OUR RADICALS. 


Lady Mulligan graciously extended her hand. 

“Oh, Allenby,’^ she said, “it has occurred tome that 
I should like to look around the married people’s quar- 
ters.” 

“I was just about to show the colonel over them, but hei 
has gone away for a moment,” answered Dr. Allenby. 

“Oh, we need not wait for him,” said Lady Mulligan,, 
“if you will accompany us.” 

The doctor did not hesitate. Lady Mulligan ruled Sir 
Titus and Sir Titus ruled the regiment, so Lady Mulligan- 
may have been said to rule them both. 

Great was the consternation among the soldiers’ wives 
when they saw her ladyship approaching. Many attempts 
were made to hide from her eagle-eye small heaps of rub- 
bish, broken glass, etc., the accumulation of the last six 
months. Among other rooms which more particularly 
olfended the gaze of Lady Mulligan was one tenanted 
by Bruce’s wife. The poor v/oman had Eugene to at- 
tend to, and her husband was busy looking after his mas- 
ter’s luggage. 

“Very untidy,” said Lady Mulligan, as she entered; 
“and you, too, the wife of an officer’s servant! Who is 
the boy ?” she added, pointing to Eugene. 

“ He is Captain Belper’s, my lady.’^ 

“Captain Belper’s!” screamed Lady Mulligan; “the 
monster isn’t married.” 

“Allow me to explain,” said Dr. Allenby. And the doc- 
tor told Lady Mulligan the circumstances of the case. 

“ And so you are going to take him with you to Ireland?’^ 
said her ladyship. 

“Yes, my lady,” answered Mrs. Bruce; “that is, if the 
colonel— leastways, your ladyship — has no objection.” 

“ He may go,” said Lady Mulligan, sweeping out of the. 
room, and joined in the hall by Sir Titus. 

An hour later the trumpeter had sounded a general pa- 
rade, and Sir Titus and his adjutant were riding by the 
ranks of the 21st. 

Her ladyship was giving some instructions to the band- 
master from her carriage-door. 

“ What shall you play when you march out of the bar- 
racks?” she was saying. 

“ ‘The Girl I Left Behind Me,’ my lady.” 

“ Play something operatic and dignified,” said her lady- 
ship. “ I will not have any cats’-meat tunes played by the 
band of the 21st Dragoon Guards.” 

Outside the barrack-gates hundreds of people had assem- 
bled, mostly the wives and children of the troopers, be- 
wailing the loss of their relatives, for only a few married 
women were allowed to accompany the regiment. 


OUR RADICALS. 43 

“If we were going to India they could not make more 
fuss,” said Lady Mulligan, contemptuously. 

As the regiment proceeded along the streets of London 
to the martial music, the cheering from the assembled 
crowds was tremendous. Mr. Cumbermore was riding in 
Hyde Park at the time. He rode up to Sir Titus, and had 
a few minutes’ conversation with him. The hurrahs of 
the bystanders were redoubled in vigor. To the British 
public it seemed as if the young prime minister had at last 
shaken himself free of the “ peace-at-any-price ” party, 
and that he was really going to put his foot down, and set- 
tle the Irish question with the sword. The feeling against 
Ireland was intense in the metropolis. One of the first 
things the Irish had done when local self-government had 
been conceded to them some years before, was to put 
heavy duties on manufactures and all articles of commerce 
coming from England. 

The English manufacturers and artisans who were for 
taxing foreign goods imported into England were indignant 
with the Irish for carrying out the same policy with refer- 
ence to their own affairs. Nothing makes a peaceful Briton 
so irritable as to hit him in his pocket. The result was that 
the masses, which Avere previously indifferent to the mur- 
der of loyalists in Ireland, and wxio had made more fuss 
about an elephant Avhich was taken from London to the 
United States than about the mutilation of human beings 
on the other side of St. George’s Channel, were now furious 
with the Irish people. 

Indeed, Mr. Cumbermore himself had stated that it would 
be an easy matter to get up an anti-Irish movement through- 
out England, and have Irishmen expelled from England, as 
the Jews were expelled from Eussia. 

“Is it true, Mr. Cumbermore,” said Sir Eichard Digby 
to that gentleman, who had joined the baronet on leaving 
Sir Titus — “is it true that you may safely appeal to the 
passions and prejudices of Englishmen, but never to their 
reason?” 

“ It Avould indeed appear so very often,” said Mr. Cum- 
bermore. “ Public opinion, is, I fear, easily manufactured 
in this country. Just as the average juryman is first led 
one way by the counsel against the prisoner, then another 
by the delinquent’s advocate, and finally gives his verdict 
upon the judge’s remarks, so are the electors Of Great 
Britain led by the nose. Some haA^e a fetish they call Eadi- 
calism, others Toryism. It Avould puzzle them sorely to 
give the reasons for their political faith. As for the re- 
mainder, they are in a ship without i-udder or compass, at 
the mercy of every political gust of Avind.” 

The troops arrived at the docks in time, The confusion 


44 


OUR RADICALS. 


at the barracks was nothing as compared with that which 
occurred at the place of embarkation. Women were try- 
ing to smuggle themselves on board to go Avith their hus- 
bands; horses were kicking violently as they were lowered 
into the vessel ; officers and men were making desperate 
eiforts to discover their respective berths; sailors were 
storing their ammunition ; friends of the officers, who had 
been admitted on board, were continually getting in the 
way of the crew, and adding thus to the general confusion. 
Among the last to arrive was Mrs. Bruce, with Eugene. , 
Tired and thoroughly worn out, she was in the act of going 
on board, when a young man accosted her, and, informing 
her that he was one of the crew, offered to assist in finding 
out what accommodation there was for her. 

“No, thank you,” she answered. “Wait a moment, 
Eugene,” she added, addressing the boy. 

“Eugene?” murmured the young man; “this must be 
the boy.” 

The speaker was Maggie, who Avas on the vessel, endeavor- 
ing to carry out some orders received from Barry. 

Mrs. Bruce, who had been away for a minute to make 
some necessary inquiries, now returned, and led Eugene 
away. 

Among a group of men on the steerage side of the vessel 
Avas the Fenian mulatto. He did not recognize Maggie as 
she passed him in her disguise. She trod, h^oweA^er, rather 
heavily on the cook’s foot, Avho, in return, swore violently. 
In doing so, he remembered* that it was connected Avith a 
preconcerted signal. When the deck was a little clear the 
mulatto joined Maggie. . 

“ Have you it here?” he said. 

“Yes, everything is in the basket,” answered Maggie. 
“ Noav shoAv me the kitchen.” 

“You look innocent enough in that garb,” said the mu- 
latto, with a grin, as he led the way doAvn the steps. 


CHAPTER XI. 

An unlooked-for incident occurred on board the City of 
Rome before the departure of the troops. Officers and men 
had succeeded in having their horses properly accommo- 
dated, and were lounging about the deck in small groups. 
Lady Mulligan Avas in a fury at the limited size of the 
cabin that had been provided for her ; and her husband, 
finding himself in the Avay, was glad to escape on deck. 
Just as he reached the top of the cabin steps he started back 
as if he had seen an apparition. 

“ Captain Belper— you here!” he exclaimed. 

“ Yes, ” said Belper. ‘ ‘ I know I have disobeyed the doC' 


OVR RADICALS. 45 

tor’s orders, but T could not let the ship sail without me. 
So here I am.” 

“A gross piece of insubordination, sir!” said Sir Titus, 
fiercely. “If I did my duty I should place you under ar- 
rest.” 

With these words Sir Titus strode toward a group of 
officers, frowning ominously. They dispersed to carry out 
some orders he gave, with no very good grace. 

“ What a bore old Titus is!” said Ostend to Digby, as he 
and his companion walked away. “ He has just been giv- 
ing it to poor Belper, simply because he disobeyed his 
doctor to be with his regiment. ’ ’ 

“ What, is Arthur on board?” said Digby, with surprise. 
“ I had no idea of it. Where is his cabin?” 

“ He is sharing mine,” answered Ostend. “ I will show 
you the way.” And the captain descended the stairs lead- 
ing to the officers’ quarters. They found Belper lying in 
his berth. He was very pale, and rose with difficulty to 
greet his comrades. 

“It is too bad of you, my dear Arthur,” said Sir Eich- 
ard. “ Titus is a brute, we all know; but it is really very 
rash of you to risk your life in this way.” 

“ I shall be better presently,” replied Arthur, who was 
looking very pale. “ I did not expect such a warm recep- 
tion, and I am still weak.” 

A knock came at the door. . 

“ Come in,” said (^ptain Ostend, and Eugene answered 
the summons. 

Arthur’s face brightened up as he saw the lad. 

“Well, Eugene, how do you like being on board?” he 
said, kindly. 

“Very much, now you have come, sir,” answered the 

lad. 

Eugene had brought some hot water in a can, which 
Belper tried to lift, but the effort vras too great, and he 
was obliged reluctantly to abandon the idea. 

“You are still weak, Arthur,” said Sir Eichard, “ and I 
shall be your nurse. Let me have your berth, Ostend, and 
you take mine. I have a cabin to myself. ’ ’ 

Ostend readily assented, and left his two friends together, 
to seek his new quarters. The vessel by this time had 
weighed anchor. A thick mist covered the waters, and 
the lights of the passing boats could hardly be seen in the 
dense fog. All was still on the vessel, nothing being heard 
but the throbbing of the machinery or the voices of the men 
on watch. Hard by the engine-room two men were busily 
engaged in placing some plates and dishes in a cupboard. 
From time to time they ceased working, and conversed 
together in a low tone of voice. 


46 


OUR RADICALS. 


“ See, it looks like a piece of coal,” said the taller of the 
two, who was Maggie, the Fenian agent. ‘ ‘ Only an ex- 
perienced eye could distinguish the difference. ’ ’ 

“ There is one thing I do not see,” said the niulatto, her 
companion. “You are going to destroy the ship, but how 
are we to escape?” 

“Very easily,” replied the woman; “ but you are in a 
great fright about your precious life. You ought to be 
proud to die for Ireland.” 

“ What is Ireland to me?” said the mulatto, fiercely. “ I 
gain nothing by all this.” 

“But you have a great deal to lose,” rephed Maggie, 
sharply. “Your life, if you disobey my orders.” 

The mulatto put on a resigned look, but his eyes glistened 
as he saw a cleaver lying on the table by his side. 

‘ ‘ I know what is passing through your mind, ’ ’ said Mag- 
gie, smiling. “You are thinking how easy it would be to 
murder me. It would not benefit you. Within twenty- 
four hours you must die.” 

“ What do you mean?” asked the black, terror-stricken. 

“ I gave you a poison with your dinner,” answered the 
woman, “knowing you were a traitor. To that poison 
there is but one antidote, and that is in my possession ; but 
not on my person,” she added, with a smile. “ You can- 
not fight against us, you see — we are too strong for you. 
Here, I have some more of the poison. Would you like to 
see how the drug does its deadly work?” 

There was a fowl in a coop hanging against the ship’s 
side. The woman took the bird, and, squeezing its neck, 
put some of the poison down its throat. 

“ Watch the bird carefully,” she said, replacing the cage 
against the wall; “ in two hours the bird will be dead; but 
in far less time you will realize from its condition the tor- 
tures you will undergo. The antidote I shall not give you 
till after the explosion. I am now going to sleep.” 

Curling herself up on a mattress in one corner, the 
Fenian emissary was soon buried in the most profound re- 
pose. 

The mulatto, however, tried in vain to sleep. From 
time to time he looked anxiously at the bird, and then at 
the sleeper, wondering in his mind whether she had lied to 
terrify him into compliance with her designs. It was a 
long time to wait in such fearful suspense. 

“ If I were only sure,” he murmured, “ I would betray 
the plot to the captain.” 

He arose at last from the ground with this determina- 
tion, when a slight scratching sound reached his ear. He 
turned his head toward the direction from whence it 
came. The bird was pecking violently at the bars of its 


OVR RADICALS. 


4? 


cage. He went up to it. The hen was evidently in great 
pain. Not content with pecking at the frameVork, she 
was driving her talons deep into her flesh, and scattering 
her feathers in the act. Between each convulsion there 
would be but an interval of one minute. He could not re- 
main looking at the fearful sight alone, so he went to the 
sleeper, and shook her. 

She smiled with satisfaction when she realized how com- 
pletely she had the mulatto in her power. 

The bird was now unable to stand. The sounds became 
each moment fainter as she tried to reach the cage bars 
with her claws. Struggling from her recumbent position, 
she appeared for an instant, as it were, galvanized into 
life ; then, fluttering her wings, she fell an inert mass on 
the floor of her prison. 

The mulatto looked as terrified as if he had been viewing 
his own death-struggles. 

“You have the antidote?” he gasped. 

‘ ‘ I will give it you five minutes after the explosion takes 
place. The means for our escape are ready. Can you 
swim?” 

“No.” 

“It will not be necessary,” she replied, carelessly. 
“Here, in this bag, are two waterproof suits. After put- 
ting one of them on, all you have to do is to blow into the 
lining through an india-mbber funnel. The space below 
the outer and inner cloth becomes filled with air. You can 
float till doomsday. If you can, take a small paddle from 
the ship. The explosion will occur about twelve miles from 
the coast. It will be your own fault if you do not succeed 
in reaching the shore.” 

“ How shall we get into the sea without being detected?” 

“Through the porthole by a rope,” answered Maggie. 
“ If you have any difficulty in getting through with your 
dress inflated, you must not blow into it till you are on the 
rope itself.” 

Maggie went to the side of the ship, and looked out into 
the night. 

“There is no moon,” she said; “ the fates mean to favor 
us.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

Blanche Tryington was not at all sorry to hear that her 
aunt had determined to take her cousin and herself to the 
Mediterranean. She had been very ill since the day at 
Hurlingham when she had witnessed Captain Belper’s 
accident. Often, as she sat in her boudoir at Arlington 


48 


OUR RADICALS, 


Street, had she catechised herself about the events of that 
day and the effect they had produced on her. 

Had she really a tender interest in the welfare of Cap- 
tain Belper? or was it merely the effect produced upon her 
nerves by seeing a fellow- creature in such imminent peril? 
Did she love Arthur Belper? She admired him, it was 
true. He was handsome and brave, and truth was 
stamped upon his brow. She liked his society, she re- 
spected his qualities ; but between these sentiments and 
love — the love that a noble woman should have for her 
future husband— there was a great, though apparently 
only a passable, gulf. 

Who was to define love to her? Who could open a heart, 
of which she only possessed the key? Was she piqued, 
as women sometimes are, at the mere resolution of a man 
to defy the boy Cupid? She argued these and many other 
ideas m her mind, but could arrive at no satisfactory con- 
clusion. 

Even supposing that she instinctively felt there was no 
other man who could rouse such feelings in her breast as 
the young officer, what right had she to encourage them, 
seeing that he had never shown the slightest predilection 
for her society in preference to that of any other person? 
He had chanced on one or two occasions to meet her at 
balls and dinners, and had ridden by her side in the park, 
and at such times had made himself more than agreeable, 
even to the saying of pretty sentences ; but who of her ac- 
quaintance had not done the same? However, in spite of 
all these things, he was ever in her thoughts, and she was 
loath to put those thoughts away from her mind. But now 
she was going to visit new countries, and 'would be free for 
a time from all the restraints of society. There would be 
no at-homes, no calls to make, no teas, no dinners, no balls ; 
and would she not be better able, out on the great, blue 
Mediterranean, to put him out of her mind altogether? 
Alas, she felt there was no sea that could divide her from 
him in thought, no distance so great that it could divide 
her from him in spirit ! 

It was with a feeling of satisfaction, however, that she 
found herself with her aunt and cousin in a railway car- 
riage on the way to Milford Haven. There they had ar- 
ranged to meet Sir Eichard Digby’s yacht, and embark for 
Cadiz, Seville, and Gibraltar. Laura was by no means in 
a good humor at having to leave London before the ex- 
piration of the season. She had at last an object in life. 
Until now everything had bored her; but at last she had 
discovered some interest in existence, and that interest was 
centered in an object, and that object was to bring Arthur 
Belper to her feet. Not that she bore any affection for him, 


OUR RADICALS. 


49 


but merely because it amused her to do so, and, moreover, 
because she was determined that he should never marry 
her cousin Blanche. 

And, again, her views upon matrimony were not of a 
very elevated order, though they may have been orthodox, 
and she considered Captain Belper a very fair matrimonial 
speculation. He was of a good familv, and had at least 
£7000 a year ; with only one drawback, the fact that he 
had no title to confer upon his wife. She had not closed 
her eyes to the state of her cousin’s mind; and if she were 
able to achieve her purpose, she w ould by that means strike 
a mortal blow at Blanche’s happiness. Laura hated 
her cousin. Lady Tryington, she knew, would leave 
half her fortune to Blanche, and that would leave her a 
very inadequate sum with which to supply her extrava- 
gant demands. She was quite unaware of the fact that 
Belper was about to embark for Ireland, and was still 
under the impression that he was confined to his room. 
She had looked forw^^ard to meeting him in the park on his 
recovery, and had exercised her brains not a little in devis- 
ing new schemes with which to succeed in captivating the 
heart of the young dragoon. But now she was dragged 
aw^ay from the scene of her possible triumphs, to gratify 
the whims of Lady Tryington and the fads of her niece. 

“Who ever heard of going to the Mediterranean in sum- 
mer?” she had said, on hearing of the proposed voyage ; 
“ it would ruin the complexion of a negress.” 

Their journey so far at an end, the ladies found them- 
selves at a comfortable hotel called the Dorking. The best 
apartments had been prepared for them, and a special 
waiter hired for the occasion. In the landlord’s opinion 
Lady Tryington was, to use his own expression, “the nob- 
biest among the nobs,” and her visit to his hotel was an 
excellent advertisement for him. A waiter entered the 
room with a card upon a tray. “ Mr. Walsh ” Avas written 
upon it, and underneath, “The White Camellia,” that 
being the name of Sir Eichard Digby’s yacht. 

“Mr. Walsh,” said Lady Tryington ; “that is the name 
of Dick’s captain.” 

The captain of the White Camellia was announced. 
After receiving her ladyship’s instructions, he withdrew to 
make the necessary arrangements for their reception on 
board the following day. The following morning broke 
cold and Avindy, but Lady Tryington was a woman of her 
Avord, and at five o’clock they were all on board the White 
Camellia. 

The vessel had been newly fitted up by Sir Richard 
Digby’s orders, and no expense had been spared to make 
the ladies’ cabins as luxurious as possible. Flowers were 


50 


OUR RADICALS. 


placed everywhere in abundance and with great taste, and 
an Erard piano, with a quantity of new music, was a con- 
spicuous feature in the saloon. 

“ How very thoughtful of Dick!” said Lady Tryington, 
with real pleasure, as they walked through the yacht. 

“When would your ladyship like to sail?” said the cap- 
tain, approaching them as they were curiously looking into 
the hold of the vessel. 

“As soon as possible, please,” was the answer. 

“The barometer is falling very fast, my lady.” 

“Never mind; we may as well get out to sea,” answered 
Lady Tryington. 

Sir Eichard Digby had given strict orders that Lady 
Tryington’s wishes were to be carried out in every respect. 
Walsh consequently did not think of suggesting that it 
might be advisable to postpone the departure. An excellent 
dinner had been prepared on board, and sht^rtly after their 
repast the ladies retired to their cabins for the night. Very 
early the following morning they were awakened by the 
sound of sailors running about on deck. 

The anchor was being weighed. An hour or two after- 
ward the yacht began to roll heavily. 

“I thought we should catch it as soon as we got out- 
side, ’ ’ murmured W alsh to himself. ‘ ‘ The barometer falls 
steadily.” 

Sir Eichard Digby had engaged an experienced woman 
for the cruise in the person of a Mrs. Blenkinsop. She had 
crossed the Atlantic many times on board one of the 
vessels of the Cunard line, and had experienced all 
weathers. 

“We are having a very bad passage, but it will be 
smoother presently,” said the worthy stewardess, tapping 
at Lady Tryington’s cabin-door. 

“ We are caught in a gale, my lady,” she continued, as 
she received no answer; “ but you need not be alarmed.” 

The position of the yacht was more perilous than even 
Mrs. Blenkinsop imagined ; but she was under good hands, 
and all that could be done was being done. 

The captain had shortened sail ; but the vessel, with al- 
most bare masts, was scudding along at a great speed, 
driven by the wind and the waves. An hour or more was 
passed in this predicament. To put into port was out of 
the question, the elements being too powerful. The only 
one who had thoroughly preserved her self-possession was 
the invalid, Blanche. Laura and Lady Tryington were 
confirmed in the opinion that their last hour had come. 
Lady Tryington slept, after awhile, for some hours. 
When she awoke there was no longer any need for anxi- 
ety— the wind had fallen. On deck, Captain Walsh was 


OUR RADICALS. 


51 


busily engaged in endeavoring to discover the damage his 
craft had received during the storm. She had shipped a 
quantity of water ; but after careful inspection the skipper 
came to the conclusion that there was no important leak- 
age. However, one of the masts had been destroyed, and 
the vessel had been severely strained. It was absolutely 
necessary to put into some port for repairs. The yacht 
had been driven out of her course, and it would be neces- 
sary, before proceeding, to rest for a few days, while she 
was being refitted. 

The sun was shining brightly in the heavens. There was 
hardly a ripple on the waters. Mrs. Blenkinsop had as- 
sured the ladies that now all danger was at an end. Lady 
Tryington and her nieces were persuaded to come on deck, 
and having seated themselves beneath an awning, were 
watching the exertions of the crew, who were working with 
indefatigable energy. In the distance a noble-looking 
steamer could be seen plowing her way through the sunlit 
waters. Blanche was looking at this vessel with a field- 
glass which the captain had lent her. 

“She does not seem to have suffered so much as our 
yacht in last night’s gale.” 

As she said this she turned to gaze in another direction. 
An exclamation from her cousin attracted her attention. 
A strange commotion appeared in the steamer. She 
seemed to have been suddenly Upheaved, as if by a sub- 
marine convulsion. Her masts were reeling over in the 
air. Detached portions of the vessel seemed to be floating 
about at a distance from it. A blue and vaporous smoke 
was rising from the waves. Suddenly Captain Walsh was 
heard giving orders for the boats to be lowered. The sailors 
exorcised every effort to get the boats into working order, 
and in a few minutes they were leaving the yacht for the 
wreck. In a moment, the sinking ship disappeared beneath 
the waves, never to rise again. 

It was a race for life, and the sailors strained every nerve 
to reach the scene of the disaster in time to save their fel- 
low-creatures. 

From the deck of the White Camellia Blanche could see 
the figures of several people holding convulsively to the 
spars and fragments of the wreck. The sailors, though 
worn out with the fatigues of the previous night, still 
worked with a will, and with a determination worthy of 
the occasion. Laura had procured a large telescope from 
Sir Richard Digby’s cabin, and the captain had fitted it up 
for her on a stand. Through the powerful lenses the goal 
toward which the sailors were rowing could be distinctly 
seen. A spar had floated to a considerable distance from 
the other debris, and the two people were holding on to this 


63 


OUR RADICALS. 


piece. In the meantime Lady Tryington and Blanche had 
descended to the cabin to arrange for the reception of the 
survivors. Mrs. Blenkinsop was carrying out their in- 
structions with great alacrity. The sailors were now rap- 
idly approaching the immediate scene of the disaster. 

“Steady all!” shouted the man in command of the first 
boat. ” I see two figures moving on our right.” 

A voice was heard calling for assistance. A few minutes 
afterward two men were hoisted into the boat ; one was 
dead, the other insensible. The boat was rowed forward. 
At a short distance some more of the steamer’s passengers 
were found, and were at once removed from the planks to 
which they were clinging. Three persons could be seen 
close at hand — one of them being a woman— and they were 
soon safe on board. In an hour, or a little more, the yacht’s 
boat was turning away from the catastrophe, and making 
toward the White Camellia, with many survivors in the 
little craft. Hardy, the man in command, had heard that 
the lost steamer was called the City of Rome. As the boat 
reached the yacht. Lady Tryington and her nieces were 
anxiously counting the number of people saved from the 
wreck. Alas ! only seven had been rescued alive. An ex- 
clamation from Blanche, who had turned suddenly pale, 
attracted Lady Tryington’ s attention. 

“ What is it, my child?” she said, anxiously. 

“Oh, aunt!” exclaimed her niece. “^Look, look! there 
is Dick, and Captain Belper; what — what does it mean? 
Oh ! I must be dreaming. ” 

Blanche was not dreaming. There, true enough, was Sir 
Richard Digby, supporting Belper on his arm, and seated 
near to them were Mrs. Bruce and Eugene. The poor 
woman was in tears, for her husband had been lost in the 
wreck. She had only been saved herself by the presence 
of mind displayed by Eugene, who immediately the ex- 
plosion took place had seized two life-belts, one of which he 
had given to the woman. Sir Richard Digby had only been 
able to find one, and that he had placed round Belper, 
trusting himself to his strong arms for safety. 

A few hours afterward Sir Richard was sitting at dinner 
with his aunt and her nieces, giving them a detailed ac- 
count oLfheir misfortunes on board the City of Rome. 

“But how did it occur?” said Blanche, eagerly. 

“ We have that to learn yet,” answered Digby. “My 
impression was that a boiler had burst, but the explosion 
did not seem to me to have happened in that part of the 
ship. The moment it occurred, however, in poured the 
water to such an extent that it was immediately seen the 
pumps were useless. All the soldiers were on deck. By 
the colonel’s orders we called the roll. While that was 


OUR RADICALS, 


5B 


being done the captain of the ship said, in an undertone, 
that the life-boats had been destroyed, 

‘ ‘ ‘ Attention !’ shouted the colonel. 

“You could have heard a pin drop but for the rushing of 
the water into the ship. 

“ ‘ Men of the 21st,’ said Sir Titus Mulligan, ‘ our ship is 
going down. Die like men. Save the women if you can. 
If there be a survivor, let him be able to say that the 21st 
looked death in the face as readily as they had done a hun- 
dred times before. ’ 

“ One cheer rose from the ranks as the colonel finished 
speaking. It sounded like a requiem over the dying. 

“ I cannot describe the confusion which ensued. Women 
rushing hither and thither in search of their husbands, 
willing to die only in their arms. Lady Mulligan was as calm 
and collected as her husband. The waters were now sur- 
X'ounding us, and I remember very little more with any 
certainty till I found myself in the waves, surrounded by 
hundreds struggling with death, from which so few of the 
brave fellows escaped.” 

Sir Richard Digby drank a glass of wine to cover his 
emotion as he finished speaking. 

The survivors had been quartered in the cabins, and 
every attention was bemg paid to their wants. 

Blanche remembered that night to pour out her heart in 
gratitude to Him who holds the waters in the hollow of His 
hand for the souls who had been saved that day from the 
wreck. Creeping quietly up on deck, after the others had 
retired for the night, she leaned over the side of the vessel 
and looked out into the night. The moon was riding calmly 
over the peaceful waters, and casting its reflection on the 
dark-blue waves. 

A figure passed slowly near her in the darkness, and de- 
scended the cabin steps. By the light of the moon she dis- 
cerned the face and form of Arthur Belper. In his hand 
he held a rose, which he placed lightly and reverentially 
to his lips. It was the one she had given him at Hurling- 
ham. He paused a moment before descending the steps, 
and placed his fingers delicately among the faded petals. 

“She gave me a rose,” he said, softly, to himself. 
“ Will she ever give me a still more precious gift?” 


CHAPTER XIH. 

Maggie was one of the survivors. The explosion had 
taken place long before the hour upon which she had calcu- 
lated. She had seen the horrors worked by her own re- 
morseless hand, and such an effect had it produced on her 


54 


OUR RADICALS. 


mind that she would gladly have shared the fate of those 
who had been drowned. 

Arthur Belper suffered from a great depression, which 
lasted some days. He could scarcely realize that his 
brother officers, the men with whom he had passed so 
many happy years, had gone from his sight forever. 

The remembrance of the scene on deck, too, preyed 
upon his mind, and rendered him j)rostrate and delirious. 

Blanche slept very little on the night following the day of 
the disaster. The horrors of the shipwreck were too 
vividly imprinted on her mind. But with it all she was 
more grateful than words could express that Arthur Belper 
had been saved. She had heard, too, his avowal of love to 
the poor rose she had given him at Hurlingham. and she 
could no longer blind herself to the fact that his love was 
fully reciprocated by her. 

Laura had not given a second thought to the unfortunate 
crew of the City of Eome. She only realized that once 
more Arthur Belper was near her, and in a position where 
she would have every opportunity of exercising all her 
powers of fascination. 

On the following morning, Digby, who was the first to 
appear on deck, found Walsh busily engaged in superin- 
tending some repairs to the vessel. 

“We had better put in at Holyhead, and have her re- 
fitted there,” said the skipper to his master. 

This seemed the wisest course to pursue, and Sir Richard 
gave instructions accordingly. It was necessary, more- 
over, that he and Arthur Belper should present themselves 
to the authorities as soon as possible. They would both be 
required as witnesses before the court of inquiry which 
would be certain to be assembled to investigate tfo cause 
of the loss of the vessel. Again, they could the sooner be 
attached to some other regiment, for affairs in Ireland were 
very critical, and the baronet was aware that the arrival 
of the American contingent in Ireland was the prelude to 
a life-and-death struggle between the Celts and Saxons. 

While conversing with the skipper, the three ladies came 
on deck, accompanied by Captain Belper. He was still very 
ill and weak, and after some persuasion he was induced to 
return to the saloon and rechne upon a sofa. 

Blanche looked anxiously at Sir Digby as he returned 
from accompanying him. 

“ I wish,” said Digby, as if in answer to her mute ap- 
peal — “ I wish, Blanche, you and Laura would see that he 
is properly looked after, for he requires great care.” 

Maggie had been watching this scene from a distance, 
and she fully realized its meaning. Nothing escaped her 
keen eye— not even the anxious expression on Blanche’s 


OUR RADICALS. 


55 


face as she watched Arthur being led away. From the 
captain she had gathered that Belper and Sir Richard 
Digby were great friends. It gradually dawned on her 
recollection that Belper was the one who had saved 
Eugene’s life. Then there was something in Sir Richard 
Digby’ s face that was not unfamiliar to her. It haunted 
her continually, but she could not recall under what cir- 
cumstances she had seen it before, for it to have so clearly 
impressed itself on her memory. 

She ran back over the years of her past life. Oh, those 
years! what would she not give to recall and respend 
them 1 Then she thought of Eugene, with his fair, hand- 
some, and open face, and a shade of regret passed over 
her countenance as she thought how little the love of any 
human being had ever entered into her life. 

She paced the deck moodily, thinking of those on board 
the White Camellia, and of the face of Sir Richard Digby, 
whom she felt sure she had seen before. 

“Where have I met him?” she said, fretfully, in her 
thoughts. “ Where have I met him? If I could only pick 
up the links, what a chain I might forge!” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“A Cabinet Council in Downing Street-— The City of 
Rome gone down in the British Channel— All Hands 
LOST — Great Battle near Dublin— Defeat of the En- 
glish Troops— Fresh Rising in India— Massacre of 
English near Delhi— Determined Attitude of the 
Volunteers.” 

This was the alarming placard of a London journal, 
which caught the eye of the Fenian, Barry, as he was walk- 
ing, in one of his numerous disguises, through Piccadilly 
Circus, in the direction of the Strand, where he was going 
to attend a meeting of the conspirators. 

“ Good!” he said to himself, as he walked on; “ Maggie 
has done her work well. Now, if we can only destroy the 
members of the cabinet, we shall be one more step in the 
direction of Ireland’s freedom.” 

Immense excitement prevailed, not only in the metropo- 
lis, but in every town and city throughout the kipgdom. 
Meetings of the volunteer forces, in defiance of the order 
of the queen’s regulations, had been held in many parts of 
England, to denounce the peace-at-any-price party with 
reference to India and Ireland. 

Lord Cromer, a distinguished general, who had been re- 
moved from the army, on account of his political views, by 
Mr. Cumbermore, presided at several of these meetings in 
the metropolis. It was rumored that the militia and regu- 


58 


OUR RADICALS. 


lars would join with the volunteers. Lord Cromer had 
publicly declared that, under existing circumstances, 
parliamentary government was a farce. The effigies of 
the members of the government had been burned in public 
thoroughfares, amid great cheering and rejoicing. 

“A house divided against itself cannot stand long, but 
time is everything to our cause ; for, let Cromer once estab- 
lish a military government, the spirit of the country might 
assert itself, and all would be lost. ’ ’ 

Another plot had been formed, under Barry’s superin- 
tendence, for the destruction of the cabinet ministers. It 
had been thought by the Fenian leader that, as so many 
attempts had been made on their lives and had been frus- 
trated by Metrale, the chief of the police, now, perhaps, he 
might, buoyed up by success, have relaxed his vigilance. 

Besides which, Barry had hit upon a plan which he 
thought would completely baffle the police. The large 
cistern on the roof of the Foreign Office had been Out of 
order for some time, but had recently been put into repair. 
The pipe for filling it with water was attached, but the 
cistern itself was empty. Barry received this information 
from a Fenian in his service, who had been employed as a 
plumber in the work. By means of a plan of the sewers 
and underground communications of London, in the con- 
spirator’s possession, he had ascertained the exact position 
of the pipe that supplied the Foreign Office with water. 
His men had taken a house beneath which the pipe passed. 
They had orders at a certain time to tap it, and then, by 
means of a small but powerful steam-engine, to force 
petroleum into the cistern. It was further arranged that, 
at a given signal, the plumber, who had arranged to secrete 
himself on the roof, was to turn a tap which, for the ex- 
tinction of fire at the Foreign Office, was connected with 
the reservoir on the roof. The building would at once be- 
come fairly saturated with petroleum, and, what with the 
fires and the gas burning below, it would be indeed strange 
if a single person within the walls were to escape the con- 
flagration. Never had a more diabolical plan been formed ; 
and it was to meet his associates, and discufis the final ar- 
rangements of the plot, that Barry, the arch-conspirator, 
was making his way when the placard struck his eye. 

The rooms in the lower part of the Foreign Office were 
being painted and whitewashed, and this would cause the 
members of the cabinet to hold their council in one of the 
upper rooms. 

On reaching Charing Cross the conspirator entered a 
small, mean-looking house. It had formerly been a pawn- 
broker’s shop, but the owner had become bankrupt, and 
had consequently to give up business. The house had then 


OUR RADICALS. 


57 


been advertised as to let, and Mike, Barry’s lieutenant, had 
taken possession, paying down the first quarter’s rent. It 
was now a common rendezvous for the Fenians, and as the 
cellars communicated with the sewers of London, they 
afforded a means of escape in the event of the house being 
surrounded by the police. 

On entering the house, the chief conspirator walked 
rapidly to a small yard at the back of the premises, first 
carefuUy closing the door behind him. He had previously 
whistled in a low tone, and the signal had been answered 
in a similar manner. Once in the yard, he looked cau- 
tiously round, and then, perceiving that he was unob- 
served, removed a large bundle of faggots, when a trap- 
door was disclosed, evidently covering a well. It had been 
placed there previously to prevent people from falling into 
the hole. A slight noise was heard at the bottom of the 
pit, and it was evident from the sound that the well was 
quite dry. Some object was gradually being pushed up- 
ward, reaching in time to the level of the ground, and 
remaining in that position. It was a ladder arranged on a 
telescopic system, and which drew out to any length re- 
quired— a very convenient invention, as it could be elevated 
in a very confined space. Taking hold of the topmost 
rung, Barry lowered himself till he found a foothold, and 
in a few minutes he was at the bottom of the well, where 
his lieutenant was anxiously waiffing his arrival. 

“ Is everj’thing in preparation?” inquired the chief. 

“Yes,” said Mike, “our men are hard at work at the 
pump.” And, stooping down, he crouched beneath a low 
arch into a narrow^ passage which led to an'opening in one 
of the main sewers. A footpath had been made beneath 
this huge drain. Along it Mike walked, bearing a lantern and 
followed by his chief. After proceeding some few hundred 
yards the lieutenant stopped, and stooping once more, passed 
through another arch similar to the one by which he had 
entered the sewer. Barry now found himself in a large 
vault, presumably at one time a dungeon belonging to an 
old mansion that centuries before had been erected near 
the Thames. Several men were at work here, and in the 
middle of the cellar was a small, noiseless steam-engine. 
The gauge showed that this machine was working at high 
pressure. 

“Just over our heads,” said Mike to Barry, “are the 
tanks belonging to Gilot & Son, the petroleum importers. 
They contain thousands of gallons of paraffine, and Ave 
have tapped them successfully, and they are now forcing 
the liquid through this pipe into the cistern above the 
Foreign Office.” 

A red light from some torches that were burning in a corner 


58 


OUR RADICALS. 


of the chamber threw its lurid rays on the faces and forms 
of the Fenian conspirators, as, stripped to the waist, they 
were engaged — some in feeding the furnace, others in at- 
taching a fresh pipe to the fierce little pumps of the engine. 

Barry looked at his watch. 

“ It is now about five o’clock, ” he remarked. “Every- 
thing will be ready bv seven, will it not?” 

“ As near as possible,” answered Mike. 

“Mr. Cumbermore will not return from Windsor before 
night,” said the chief of the Fenians. “A special train 
has been ordered to be in readiness at 7.30, to bring him to 
town. The cabinet council cannot be held before nine or 
half -past. So that we shall be in perfect readiness for the 
signals. By the way, have any of you heard or seen any- 
thing of Maggie? It is now three days since the explosion 
took place, and she ought to have been with us by this 
time, unless she paid with her life for her success. ’ ’ 

No one had heard of her, but all were anxious. Barry 
issued his final orders, and then retraced his steps to the 
mouth of the well. Leaving his lieutenant in the old house 
at Charing Cross, he went in search of some information 
about Maggie. 

“I must keep my eye on her,” he said, as once more 
the newspaper boys thrust their papers before him. “She 
is a desperate and successful ally, but she would be a dan- 
gerous foe.” ^ 


CHAPTER XV. 

The people of England had become very dissatisfied with 
the continued reverses experienced by their armies. Mr. 
Bullneck found it very difficult, in spite of his great ora- 
torical powers, to induce English audiences to pass peace-at- 
any -price resolutions. Indeed, some of his meetings had 
been disturbed of late by advocates of the military govern- 
ment, and the old agitator now saw that, if he wished to 
go with the times, he would have not to agitate for a peace 
policy, but to outbid Cumbermore, and go in for upholding 
what the military element throughout the kingdom were 
pleased to call the honor of Old England. 

Lord Cromer had been very active in arousing his fellow- 
countrymen from their lethargy to denounce the principles 
upheld by Mr. Cumbermore, and also the degrading tenets 
of Mr. Bullneck’ s policy. Many .who before had been an- 
tagonistic to these ideas were now won over to their oppon- 
ents by the stagnation of trade. Factories were lying idle, 
and men thrown out of work. Whole towns had become 
depopulated, and thousands of men and women, who for- 
merly had earned an honest livelihood, were now obhged 


OUR RADICALS. S9 

to leave their native country and emigrate with their chil- 
dren to foreign lands. 

The result had been a complete revulsion of feeling in 
many of the constituencies. The Scotch alone were still 
somewhat radical, but through the reverses of British 
troops, and the knowledge that their own country might 
even be invaded by a mixed force of Celts and Americans, 
they were becoming reconciled to the idea that perhaps a 
military dictatorship for the time would be the-best form 
of government. 

Stringent orders had been sent from the War Office to 
Lord Cromer, to the elfect that he must desist from deliver- 
ing public speeches against the government. The volunteers 
had been warned that unless they put an end to their 
unlawful meetings they would be disbanded. But Lord 
Cromer, whose name had some years previously been 
erased from the “Army List” at. the instigation of Mr. 
Cumbermore, treated these mandates with contempt ; and 
the volunteers, instead of being awed by the communica- 
tions they had received, showed their indifference to the 
threats by increasing the number of their gatherings. 
Lord Cromer was in confidential correspondence with offi- 
cers commanding other volunteer corps throughout the 
kingdom. He was known as a good general, and a deter- 
mined, high-minded man. 

Many officers had agreed to obey him implicitly when- 
ever he gave the order for an outbreak, and the metropoli- 
tan volunteers to a man were believed to be on his side. 
Information as to the probable extent of this conspiracy 
had been already forwarded by Metrale to the prime min- 
ister. Indeed, the cabinet council, to be held in Downing 
Street, related to that very subject. Members of Parlia- 
ment, who had voted at unsettled times for the surrender 
by England of her various colonies, had been hissed on 
their way to Westminster by a mob representing not only 
the lower, but all classes of society; Mr. Bullneck, the 
leader of the extreme party, had been stoned on two oc- 
casions, and his life placed in peril. 

Under the circumstances, it seemed strange that Mr. 
Cumbermore did not meet the threatening storm by an ap- 
peal to the country. But he was a determined man, and 
an able though unscrupulous statesman. His love of power 
and office was unbridled. His good opinion of himself at 
all times made him overbearing and despotic, and to see 
his foes, the Imperialists— whom he had contemptuously 
denounced as Jingoes— in office would have been too much 
for him to endure. 

He had sent almost every available soldier belonging to 
the regular army to Ireland, and was in hopes that the next 


eo 


OXJR RADICALS. 


telegram would bring him news of the suppression of the 
insurrection. Should this have taken place he could then 
appeal to the country ; but not under existing circumstances, 
as a dissolution would be fatal to the Eadical party, of 
which he had been so long the leader. He was now with 
the sovereign at Windsor, having been summoned there 
on account of the alarming reports which had reached the 
court as to the reverses experienced by British troops in 
Ireland, and the unsettled state of the country, owing to 
the Fenian outrages. It had been publicly stated in Par- 
liament by the secretary of state for war that the reports 
had been much exaggerated, but the fact remained that the 
telegraph wires had been cut, and that there was no com- 
munication with Dublin for the time being. The court had 
been further alarmed by a report that the Household 
Troops and the Foot Guards, upon whom the sovereign 
could rely implicitly, had been disbanded, owing to their 
monarchical tendencies, and that their barracks had been 
filled by the metropolitan police. 

The news from India, too, was of an alarming nature. 
The commander-in-chief of the forces in Hindostan had 
telegraphed that without reinforcements it vrould be im- 
possible to subdue the insurgents ; that the Afghans had 
crossed the Indus ; and that, bad as had been the state of 
things in India at the time of the Sepoy rebellion, it was 
now a great deal worse. The fact was that Mr. Cumber- 
more’s policy had been to educate the natives of Hindostan, 
under the impression that if they were well instructed they 
would see how much more beneficial it would be for them 
to be under British rule than under, the dominion of Russia. 
He had not taken into his consideration that on learning 
their jown strength they might wish to govern themselves. 
Since the Indians had been taught to read Enghsh in the 
native schools the sale of newspapers published in Ireland 
had increased enormously in the large towns throughout 
Hindostan. It was known that Irishmen had obtained 
home rule by means of outrages and murders, and this 
knowledge had induced the natives of Hindostan to try the 
same argument with a like object in their own case. 

The sovereign’s hand was extended to Mr. Cumbermore 
as he entered the private apartments. The prime minister 
kissed it. but with a somewhat contemptuous air, as if in 
his opinion it was time that such a ceremony should be 
dispensed with. 

“ Any fresh news from Ireland, Mr. Cumbermore?” 

“ No, your majesty; but I am hourly expecting to hear 
that the insurrection has been suppressed, and that the 
rebel leaders are prisoners in the hands of the authori- 
ties. ’ ’ 


OUR RADICALS. 


61 


“And from Hindostan, what tidings have you?” 

“Alas! nothing of an encouraging nature,” replied Mr. 
Cumbermore. “The commander-in-chief telegraphs that 
he requires more troops, and we have none to send.” 

‘ ‘ But the reserves ; surely they might be employed. 
They were called out some weeks ago, if my memory 
serves me.” 

“Impossible for us to let them leave England, your 
majesty. We are daily in dread of a rising against your 
majesty’s government. The volunteers and militia are 
quite prepared to make a movement under Lord Cromer. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ The country is in a very disturbed condition, ’ ’ observed 
the sovereign. “ The feeling against my advisers seems to 
be very strong.” 

As the monarch spoke, a page entered the room with a 
dispatch. It was directed to the prime minister, and on it 
was written “ Urgent.” 

“By your majesty’s permission?” said Mr. Cumbermore, 
inquiringly. 

On reading the first few lines Mr. Cumbermore’ s counte- 
nance betrayed considerable agitation of mind. The letter 
was from Lord O’ Hagan Harton. It ran as follows: 

“ Metrale’s information from private sources leads me to 
believe that the rebels have taken Dublin. The news is 
not yet public, and I have given orders that it be sup- 
pressed. This, however, can only last a day or two, as the 
people must learn the truth in time. Our military advisers 
say the tunnel ought to be destroyed as soon as the troops 
have returned. Cromer has made another revolutionary 
speech to-day. Don’t fail to be at the cabinet meeting this 
evening. ’ ’ 

Mr. Cumbermore was obliged to inform the sovereign of 
the contents of the dispatch, and he remained another 
half-hour in the monarch’s presence, after which he was 
conducted in one of the royal carriages to the station. 

How different was his reception by the spectators on that 
occasion to that which in former times he had received 1 
There was no demonstration, although it was known that 
the prime minister would leave Windsor at a certain hour. 

Mr. Eyder happened to be returning to London by the 
same train, with the intention of gleaning sufficient infor- 
mation for a paragraph in the Scraivler, but he found the 
prime minister gloomy and uncommunicative. 

Half an hour after their departure the train steamed into 
Paddington Station, and Lord O’ Hagan Harton was 
anxiously awaiting the arrival of his colleague. 

“ The Duke of Preston will meet you to-night,” said the 


62 


OVR RADICALS. 


lord chancellor, as they drove off in his carriage. “ He is 
an authority on Indian matters.” 

“It will be interesting to hear his views,” said the 
prime minister. “I should like to see him before the 
meeting to-night. ” 

“ Cromer is getting a dangerous foe, ” said Lord O’ Hagan 
Harton. 

“Yes; the matter must come before the council to-night. 
He is a man of action, not words only. He remembers 
that I was the means of having his name erased from the 
‘ Army List, ’ and, if the opportunity were afforded him, he 
would strike deeply. We must arrest Lord Cromer for 
high treason. The difficulty will be to take him. Metrale 
can depend thoroughly on some of the men in his force. 
They will ^o to Cromer’s residence at night, dressed in vol- 
unteer uniform. A special train will be in waiting to con- 
vey him to London. If it is properly carried out, his men 
will be ignorant of the capture. ’ ’ 

“ It would go hard with the policemen if they were dis- 
covered.” answered his colleague. “The papers say he 
has forty thousand men at his back, with the pretense of 
maneuvering imder his command. What terrible days we 
live in ! Who would have thought that under a free and 
enlightened Eadical government England would be on the 
eve of a revolution?’ ’ 

“Yes,” replied the prime minister; “and what perplexes 
me is that the movement is not against the crown — I wish 
it were— -but against ourselves ; against us, who have en- 
franchised the lower classes because we thought it would 
keep us in office — who have given up the colonies because 
we thought it would be economical to do so — who sold Gib- 
raltar to the Spaniards, and were able, in consequence, to 
abolish the income tax; against us, who strive daily to do 
away with that costly appendage, royalty — who have abol- 
ished the household troops, nominally on the ground of 
expense — who gave the people caucuses to save them the 
trouble of even thinking for themselves ; and it is against 
us that the popular feeling is directed. Truly, ingratitude 
so great is unparalleled in history.” 

“ But we must dine now,” said the lord chancellor, “and 
drown our woes in a good glass of wine, and then go at once 
to the cabinet meeting.” 

“There to decide on the fall of Lord Cromer,” added 
the prime minister, for the subject was uppermost in his 
mind. 


OUR RADICALS. 


63 


CHAPTER XVI. 

It was a pleasant afternoon in the middle of the month 
of June, and the large town of Meltingborough presented 
an unusually animated appearance. On the following day 
it had been arranged thatthegreat volunteer review should 
take place. From all parts of the Midland counties, and in 
some instances from the north of the Tweed, volunteers had 
arrived in their thousands and tens of thousands to be pres- 
ent on the occasion. 

The country round Meltingborough was admirably suited 
for a military spectacle— large tracts of moorland spread- 
ing for miles in every direction, surrounded by a broken 
chain of hills— and afforded space for two hundred thou- 
sand men to march past if required to do so, and at the 
same time allowed the spectators to view the military move- 
ments from the adjoining hills, without hampering the 
maneuvers of the soldiers. 

The rifle-butts of the Meltingborough volunteers were 
celebrated throughout the kingdom, there being a sufficient 
range even for the manipulation of the new machine guns, 
which, from their accuracy and rapidity of fire, were rev- 
olutionizing the system of armament in the British army. 

Lord Cromer’s castle,, a magnificent mansion, was in the 
vicinity of Meltingborough. The park had been thrown 
open to the volunteers during their encampment, and long 
lines of tall tents studded the glades where a few days 
previous antlered monarchs had held undivided sway. 

Lord Cromer had greatly distinguished himself in India, 
and could show the trace of many a wound received in a 
hard-won fight. On returning to England he became a 
legislator, and joined the conservative party, his powers of 
organization being of the greatest service to his leaders. 

There was, perhaps, no man in England who was such a 
thorn in the side of the revolutionary party as Lord 
Cromer. Whenever the Radicals formed caucuses he 
vvmuld start rival caucuses; not that he approved of that 
mode of warfare, but because he thought it necessary to 
fight the re\jolutionists with their* own Aveapons. When 
Mr. Cumbermore organized meetings where ten thousand 
people were brought together to listen to his eloquence — 
and he could talk — Lord Cromer would organize rival 
meetings wdiere a still greater number of people were 
brought together to listen to himself. When Mr. Cumber- 
more’s organ, the Rattlesnake^ announced that gigantic 
meetings had been held in twenty large towns thi’oughuufc 
the kingdom. Lord Cromer’s organ, the Sovereign and 
People^ declared that in forty centers of industry meetings 


64 


OUR RADICALS, 


had been held to express their sympathy with the policy of 
his party, and their disgust at the unpatriotic and degrad- 
ing conduct of Mr. Cumbermore and his followers. Mr. 
Cumbermore, to secure a large circulation of the Rattle- 
snake, reduced his paper from twopence to a penny, slightly 
diminishing the size of that journal; whereupon Lord 
Cromer increased the amount of matter in the Sovereign 
and People, and sold it for a halfpenny. It was a case of 
diamond cut diamond, and war to the knife, between the 
two statesmen; and Lord Cromer waited calmly but 
hopefully for an opportunity to avenge himself upon the 
prime minister for having struck his name from the 
‘ ‘ Army List ’ ’ for what the prime minister chose to de- 
scribe “as a grave breach of discipline,” but which was 
really the result of Lord Cromer speaking his mind too 
freely against the premier's method of promoting those 
only who swore political allegiance to him, and also on 
account of his writing to the press letters condemning this 
form of bribery, and branding it as unconstitutional and 
degrading. 

Lord Cromer was now engaged in visiting the encamp- 
ment of the volunteers. The rumor of his arrival had 
spread rapidly along the line of tents, and on all sides he 
was greeted with every show of affection and loyalty. He 
was a born leader of men, and his folloAvers intuitively felt 
it, and would have followed him even in a forlorn hope. 
Several officers came forward, and besought him to ad- 
dress the men. 

“It is against orders,” said his lordship, with a faint 
smile. ‘ ‘ Do you think Ave are powerful enough, with this 
army at our backs, to make our own regulations?” 

At that moment a murmur arose from all sides — a faint 
but perceptible murmur, that sounded like an approaching 
storm. 

“Speak, speak!” said the officers, “the men will hear 
you.” 

Lord Cromer turned his horse’s head round toward the 
castle, and, riding to a convenient elevation, held up his 
right hand. 

By this time some twenty thousand men Tiad gathered 
round him, and a dead silence reigned as the popular gen- 
eral raised his hand. In a voice that would have encour- 
aged the faintest heart among them, he addressed these 
words to the assembled multitude of armed men : 

“ Volunteers of England, you are assembled to-day nom- 
inally for the purpose of drill ; in reality, you are here as 
representatives of public opinion — that Amice so poAve**ful 
that it has been called the A^oice of God. The members of 
the revolutionary government have tried to stifle it, but in 


OUR RADICALS. 


65 


vain. Each day that these men are in power brings more 
humiliation upon England. Everywhere our arms are re- 
versed, and our flag is trodden in the mire. The prime 
minister, who has been called upon to dissolve Parliament, 
refuses to do it, so lustful is he of office and power. He 
once said that force is no remedy. Are you prepared, vol- 
unteers of England, to show him that it is a very powerful 
remedy? If so, speak as one man, and to-morrow I will 
lead you to London. Strike, volunteers, for Old England 
and our sovereign!” 

A tremendous cheer arose from the assembled multitude 
as Lord Cromer finished speaking; and, from the wild en- 
thusiasm, it was evident that a spirit of determination had 
been comrnunicated from the general to his men. 

“The die is cast,” said Lord Cromer to himself, as he 
rode back from the camp, escorted by the commanding 
officers of the various battalions. “The die is cast. Now, 
Cumberrnore, look to yourself ! One of us must fall. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XYII. 

It was night in the old Castle of Meltingborough. A 
dinner had been given by its owner to the volunteer officers, 
and over four hundred had assembled in the great hall of 
the castle. It was a grand spectacle, and did honor even 
to the place which for generations had fostered sons whose 
lives had been ever at the service of their country. On 
this occasion a number of loyal toasts had been proposed. 
The sovereign’s health had been drunk with great enthu- 
siasm. It was clear, from the applause with which Lord 
Cromer’s remarks were received, that the volunteers of 
England were united in their devotion to the crown ; and, 
by the observations that fell from the lips of some of the 
more influential, it was manifest that they were animated 
with a common feeling of bitter hatred toward the govern- 
ment. It was whispered that, if Mr. Cumberrnore only 
had their leaders in his power, their lives would be the for- 
feit of their present action. The rumor reached Lord 
Cromer’s ears, and he took advantage of the opportunity 
afforded him to speak. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said, “ it may not have struck you as 
very remarkable that on this occasion the health of the 
cabinet ministers has been omitted on the list of toasts. I 
look upon them as traitors to their country, and now I ask 
you to drink with me to the dire punishment that awaits 
them.” 

T^e remarks of Lord Cromer were received on every oc- 
casion with great enthusiasm, and, after arranging for an 
eaidy parade of the whole force in the camp. Lord Cromer 


OUR RADICALS. 


retired from the room, accompanied by two of his most 
trusted officers. They proceeded to his lordship’s library, 
where arrangements were made for the movement of the 
soldiers to the metropolis. Lord Cromer was well aware 
that Mr. Cumbermore by that time had received a report 
of his speech, and that, in all probability, an order would be 
issued for his arrest. Indeed, so concerned was one of his 
officers, Sir Edward Righton, at the risk his leader ran of 
being made a prisoner, that, on his own responsibility, he 
had thrown out a line of outposts around the castle, with 
orders to detain any one not in uniform approaching the 
walls of the building. 

“ There will be some difficulty in railway transport,” ob- 
served Sir Edward Righton, “ although the station-masters 
and the other officials are with us to a man ; but I have 
carried out your orders, and sent two companies, under 
Colonel Trent, to the stations, with orders to detain all 
trains and secure as many carriages as possible. At the 
same time, I have sent some men to cut the wires that con- 
nect us with London. It will not do for Cumbermore to be 
apprised sooner than need be of our intentions.” 

“Unfortunately we have no artillery,” said Lord Cro- 
mer; “ but it has its advantage, for we should have expe- 
rienced great difficulty in transporting the guns. I propose 
that we move by rail to v/ithin about fifteen miles of Lon- 
don, and then, dividing into several corps, at a given signal 
each commander will march from four different points of 
the compass on the city. The metropolitan volunteers are 
with us to a man ; and all the men Cumbermore can rely 
upon are the police— even they are wavering. As to the reg- 
ular army, what regiments there are in London may be com- 
pelled to make an ineffectual stand ; but it will be of short 
duration, and they will willingly surrender. Once the 
blow is struck, they will hail with equal delight the down- 
fall of the Radical tyrants. ’ ’ 

A servant entered the room with a card for Lord Cro- 
mer. 

‘ ‘ The gentleman has been detained by Sir Horace Hol- 
crof t, my lord, awaiting your orders. ’ ’ 

“ Just see who it is, Righton,” said Lord Cromer, who 
was too occupied with a map that was spread before him 
to look up. 

“ Sir Richard Digby.” 

“Digby!” exclaimed his lordship. “Digby, my own 
nephew! Oh! this is fortunate, indeed. Bring him here 
yourself, Righton. You remember the man who was in 
the 21st Dragoon Guards. He will be a useful man if we 
can enlist his sympathies. He knows his work well, and 
is a capital staff officer. Perhaps, on consideration, it 


OUR RADICALS. 67 

would be better for me to meet him alone. Take him to 
the east room in the long gallery.” 

Sir Edward Righton went upon his mission, and Lord 
Cromer turned to his other officer. 

“ Are we well supplied with ammunition?” 

“Fully.” 

“Remember, once we leave Meltingborough, where we 
can procure everything we want, it will be difficult to find 
the means of supplying cartridges for our machine-guns 
and repeating-rifles.” 

“ All this has been attended to,” said the officer. 

“Then we move to London tomorrow.” And, saying 
good-night to his friend, Lord Cromer proceeded to the 
east room to meet his nephew. 

“ How altered you are, Dick!” said Lord Cromer, after a 
warm and hearty greeting. ‘ ‘ Let me see, how long is it 
since we last met? It must be ten years, if it is a day.” 

“ Yes, uncle; time does not make us any younger m ap- 
pearance, if it cannot steal our boyish spirits.” 

“ But how did you come here?” 

“ I arrived at Meltingborough on my way to town this 
afternoon. In the railway station I heard of your speech 
to the volunteers; and, as it appeared to me you meant 
business, I determined to offer my services.” 

“ What, against the government?” 

“Yes, heartily; they are going from bad to worse, and I 
shall be glad to assist in bringing them to their knees. ’ ’ 

They sat some time by the old oak fireplace, talking over 
old campaigns ; and Lord Cromer felt the old attachment 
for his nephew stronger than ever when they parted for a 
few hours’ rest. 

Rest, though, was out of the question for Lord Cromer. 
He sat himself down to study his maps, and to finish his 
plan for provisioning his army on the march. If Lord 
Cromer, as he sat in the old-fashioned library, had not been 
so engrossed in his occupation, he might have heard a 
slight noise, as of something being placed against the wall 
outside his room. At the sound several birds flew away 
from the ivy which clung to the walls. Two men, dressed 
in volunteer uniform, were placing a short ladder against 
the masonry. Presently one of them ascended, and, look- 
ing carefully through the window of the room where his 
lordship was writing, made a sign to his companion, and 
then descended. For some time they both remained con- 
cealed in the shadows cast by the massive buttresses of the 
building. An hour passed, and again the man ascended 
the ladder, only to return to his companion again. An- 
other hour passed, and once more the same man mounted 
the rungs of the ladder and repeated the operation. This 


68 


OUR RADICALS. 


time Lord Cromer was no longer at work. Worn out by 
his mental and bodily exertions, he had fallen asleep on a 
couch. By the faint light of the lamp the intruder could 
see the pallid countenance of the sleeper. Making a sign 
to his comrade below, the latter climbed to within a few 
feet of the window. 

Meantime his companion, taking out of his pocket a 
glazier’s diamond, pressed it against one of the large panes 
of glass, at the same moment making a circular movement 
with his wrist. Then, taking a large piece of brown paper, 
he smeared it with some sticky substance, and placed it 
over the entire glass. Waiting patiently for a quarter of 
an hour, he found the piece of glass excised by the diamond 
adhering to the paper. All this had been effected without 
any noise, and, even if Lord Cromer had been awake, his 
attention would hardly have been aroused by the proceed- 
ings. Putting his hand carefully through the hole in the 
glass, the man drew back the bolt that fastened the case- 
ment, pouring at the same time some oil into the chinks of 
the woodwork. The window opened without much effort, 
and with little noise.' Telling his companion to follow him, 
he stepped across the sill into the room. Not a sound could 
be heard save the deep breathing of Lord Cromer, who, with 
his face turned to the wall, and resting on his arm, lay 
buried in a profound sleep. The flickering lamp gave a 
ghastly appearance to the two men, as they crept stealthily 
to the table. The first one to enter the room whispered to 
his companion in a low tone, and by the gesticulations 
which accompanied his remarks it was evident that it was 
a mooted point in the speaker’s mind as to whether it would 
not be the wisest thing to kill the sleeper, and then to 
escape as fast as possible. 

The other, however, dissuaded his companion from this 
course of action. 

“The chief does not want him to be killed,” said the 
man. 

A look of incredulity passed over the first speaker’s 
face. 

‘ ‘ Perhaps not. He wants him to be a prisoner in his 
hands; but if he wakes, we have no other course.” 

Turning the wick of the lamp a little higher, the speaker 
took from his pocket a small bottle, and after extracting 
the cork, poured the contents on some wool. A power- 
ful and sickly odor pervaded the atmosphere as the wool 
was saturated by the liquid ; and having placed it on the 
pillow, the man retreated behind a curtain whither his 
companion had already secreted himself, to wait for the 
poisoned air to take effect on the sleeper. In a fevr min* 
utes the sound of heavy breathing, which before had filled 


OUR RADICALS. 


69 


the room, died gradually away, each moment becoming 
more intermittent and less audible, and ceasing altogether 
at last. 

“So far we are successful,” said the man who had ad- 
ministered the anaesthetic, “ but we cannot administer 
chloroform to him all the way up to town ; a little of the 
extract of morphia will do our business better. ” 

With these words he took from a small leather case a 
little instrument, and inserting it into the sleeper’s arm, 
injected something beneath his skin. 

“He will be quiet now for at least forty-eight hours;” 
said the operator, ‘ ‘ indeed, if he is not a strong man, he 
will sleep till doomsday.” 

“ Now let us put on his uniform,” said the other. 

Raising the body of the peer, with the assistance of his 
accomplice, he slowly dressed his victim, buckling on the 
sword-belt, and putting the cocked-hat on the general’s 
head. 

“He looks quite lifelike,” said the man, with a smile of 
satisfaction. 

“Yes; if it were daytime we should have all the guards 
turning out to salute his lordship,” said the other, with a 
grin. 

“As it is,” continued the other, “he will not be recog- 
nized ; and even if that were to happen, they will think he 
is going to inspect the pickets.' The special train is wait- 
ing at a little station seven miles distant, and if we can 
once clear the lines, there will be little diflSculty in finish- 
ing our work. ’ ’ 

Raising Lord Cromer in their arms, they carried him to 
the window, and, strapping a broad leather belt around his 
waist, they attached it to a long cord with knots at inter- 
vals of one or two feet to prevent its slipping. Placing 
their victim on the top of the ladder, they allowed him to 
slide quietly down the incline. 

A few minutes afterward they might have been seen 
driving down the park avenue which led to the main road. 


CHAPTER XVHI. 

It was about two hours before dawn, just the time that a 
general with his wits about him generally selects to attack 
the camp of the enemy. Sir Richard Digby, somewhat un- 
set (Ted by the exciting events that had occurred during the 
previous fortnight, had not slept as soundly as might have 
been expected after all his exertions. Now ho dreamed of 
the shipwreck, then of his uncle’s revolutionary move- 
ment. At times a woman’s face appeared to him, a sad 
and melancholy face, with large and solemn eyes that 


70 


OUR RADICALS. 


looked reproachfully at the dreamer. Sir Richard Rigby 
started several times, and would have addressed the ap- 
parition, holding out his hand as if to welcome it ; but the 
phantom disappeared, and was immediately followed by 
visions of the jungle and by incidents of the wars in Africa. 
Now he was risking his life to save a hard-pressed comrade ; 
and it seemed to him that what he had done had been per- 
formed less from a motive of gallantry than from a reck- 
lessness of his life, which had ceased to have any particu- 
lar attraction for him. 

Sir Richard moved uneasily on his couch, and presently 
awoke with racking pains in his head. 

Going to the window, he threw open the casement, and 
admitted the fresh morning air, which cooled his temples. 
As he did so, the old clock in the turret struck three. 

There were still two hours before dawn, and he, remember- 
ing that as a boy he had often enjoyed capital trout-fishing in 
a stream that ran through the park, determined to take a 
rod, if one were to be found in the old place, and try his 
hand with the fiy. 

Having dressed he proceeded to the river, and, attaching 
his fiy, commenced to whip the waters. By the pale light 
of the moon and stars he could see in the distance the long 
lines of white tents that formed the camp of the soldiers. 
The massive old castle stood out in the background, its 
turrets and towers cut clear and cold against the cloudless 
sky. That venerable pile had seen some startling episodes 
in the history of his country. It had been a haven of 
refuge to Charles I. , on the eve of one of his encounters 
with Cromwell ; and the very stream which ran before him, 
so white and clear that it reflected the moon upon its sur- 
face, had run red in the days gone by with the blood of 
Royalist and Republican. 

On the very bed on which his weary limbs had found a 
fitful repose had rested the kingly head which fell beneath 
the stroke of the bloody ax. 

The fish did not rise well, and Sir Richard, after whip- 
ping the water for about half an hour, put his rod down 
upon the ground, and, resting himself against a great oak- 
tree, lit a pipe of tobacco. As he leaned forward to shield 
himself from the wind, a medallion fell from his pocket on 
the grass. He picked it up with an almost reverential 
touch, and, opening it, gazed upon the picture it contained. 
The miniature which he held in his hand was that of a lady 
attired in Andalusian costume, such as even now may be 
seen at the halls in the Casino de Seville, after the Holy 
Week, and during the celebrated fair. The portrait was 
painted, and the beautiful face before him, with its large, 
clear eyes and olive skin, betokened her Spanish blood. 


OUR RADICALS, 


71 


The fan in her hand was so exquisitely designed that it 
seemed to shake as Sir Eichard remembered he had seen it 
when its owner had beckoned him toward her. What 
happy months they had spent together in the fair city on 
the Guadalquivir ! Oh, those happy days, the days of their 
secret betrothal! — the rage of Ursula’s father, the old 
marquis, when he discovered that his only child had se- 
cretly married a heretic— the night attack upon him near 
the arches of the great cathedral— how he had been left for 
dead by his assailants, and his fruitless search for his wife 
—all these memories flashed through his mind as he re- 
clined against the tree, while the smoke from his pipe 
slowly curled upward, caressed by the wanton wind. 

While thus dreaming, his attention was suddenly aroused 
by the sound of wheels. A carriage was ascending the road 
slowly, on account of the ground being very steep. The 
occupants, ignorant that they were observed, were talking 
freely to each other. 

“Some volunteers going to the encampment from the 
castle, no doubt,” thought the baronet, as he glanced 
through the trees that stood between his position and 
theirs. 

“How heavy the old fellow’s body is,” said one of the 
volunteers; “ it is almost impossible to keep him upright.” 

This observation reached Sir Eichard ’s ears, and it ex- 
cited his curiosity. 

Peering round a tree, he saw a gig approaching, and two 
men inside it dressed as volunteers, supporting a third, at- 
tired as a general. In another moment they passed by a 
bend in the road, within a few feet of the baronet, when, 
to his astonishment, he recognized in the apparently inani- 
mate figure his uncle. Lord Cromer. He at once realized 
that some treachery was at work, and his first impulse was 
to rush at the horse’s head and arrest the carriage ; but on 
second thoughts he remembered that he was single-handed, 
and without any means of defense. Moreover, he knew a 
short cut across the trout stream by which he could gain 
more than half a mile on the gig, and have the men ar- 
rested by the first patrol of volunteers he fell in with. Al- 
lowing the carriage to pursue its course uninterrupted, he 
hastened down the bank of the stream, and, springing from 
rock to rock, gained the opposite bank. Then, tightening his 
belt, ho ran down the slope, keeping his body as near to the 
ground as possible, to avoid detection. Now he found him- 
self in a morass up to his knees, then he had to penetrate a 
thick gorse cover ; but, regardless of difficulties, he hurried 
on, until, on emerging from a plantation, he found himself 
on the high-road. 

“ The volunteers’ picket should be here,” he said to him- 


73 


OUR RADICALS, 


self, “ if the man in charge has any knowledge of the coun- 
try ; for from this place there are five cross-paths, and the 
hollow below the plantation affords an admirable place for 
concealment. ’ ’ 

Digby looked around for the picket, but in vain; that 
which was so apparent to his practiced eye had escaped the 
notice of the officer in charge of the outpost. 

‘ ‘ D n the fellow !’ ’ muttered Sir Eichard ; “ a nice sort 

of watch he keeps. I shall have to face it out with the 
scoundrels, for I can hear their wheels now. ’ ’ 

The place was not at all favorable for a single man to stop 
an enemy in the way. The baronet felt sure that if he were 
to place himself in the middle of the road the driver would 
gallop his horse at him, and thus get the better of him in a 
moment. 

He had nothing in his hand save the fishing-rod, which 
he had carried in the hope of its becoming useful. An idea 
occurred to him, which he put instantly into practice. He 
had been an enthusiastic fisherman, and could throw a fiy 
with the greatest accuracy. Arranging his line and rod, 
and concealing himself behind the trunk of an old oak, he 
waited till the carriage arrived. 

The horse was tired, from the uphill work he had been 
doing the greater part of the way, and was trotting slowly 
up the incline. As it reached the spot where Sir Eichard 
was concealed the baronet threw his fly, which struck deep 
into the face of the driver, who, terrified and in great pain, 
instantly dropped the reins. Without wasting the tenth 
part of a second Sir Eichard rushed forward, and, clubbing 
his fishing-rod, broke it upon the head of the other occu- 

E ant of the carriage, at the same time calling out, as if he 
ad some men behind him, “Shoot the scoundrels— take 
good aim!” 

The driver, who was maddened with pain and fear, tried 
to run away, followed by his companion, who escaped ; but 
Sir Eichard refused to relax his hold upon the line, and, re- 
solving to make a prisoner of one, wound the silk round 
his wrists and threw him upon the ground. Finding some 
cord in the gig, he bound his man to a tree, and then, tak- 
ing the reins, he jumped into the carriage and drove back 
to the castle with all speed, supporting the prostrate form 
of his uncle with one arm. 

On the road he met the officer in ' charge of the picket, 
and, briefly relating what had occurred, ordered him to 
take a surgeon and release the prisoner from the tree, but 
to keep him in custody. He further charged the officer to 
send mounted men in pursuit of the other fugitive. 

It was six o’clock by the time Sir Eichard Digby reached 
the castle. On the steps stood Edward Eightonin full uni- 


OUR RADICALS, 


73 


form, surrounded by his staff. They were expecting Lord 
Cromer, and were expressing their surprise that he had not 
appeared. In a few words Ligby explained what had oc- 
curred, and on investigating the matter the ladder was 
found by which the men had entered the room. 

The ablest surgeon in the camp was summoned, and on 
examining Lord Cromer he at once understood what had 
occurred. Indeed, the odor of the ansesthetic was still 
strong in the room, and the wound on Lord Cromer’s arm 
showed where the drug had been injected. The surgeon, 
who had had great experience in the use of narcotics, used 
every possible means to restore his lordship. So successful 
was the treatment that in a few hours Lord Cromer 
opened his eyes, and was soon able to converse with those 
around his bed. 

While Sir Eichard Ligby was standing in the room an 
orderly brought him a dispatch to the effect that the run- 
away had been secured, and placed in custody with the 
man whom Sir Eichard had fastened to the tree. ‘ ‘ The 
men are so furious at the attempt made to capture Lord 
Cromer that I had great difficulty in preventing them from 
shooting the prisoners. ’ ’ 

“Audit would have been what they well deserved,” 
thought Sir Eichard Digby, as he looked down the long 
line of tents and wondered how the campaign would end 
which had opened so inauspiciously. 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

A LARGE party had assembled at the house of Mr. Sand- 
ford, tho energetic chief of the London Fire Brigade. Mr. 
Sandford was ono of tho most popular men in town. Ee- 
spected by the lower classes, who admired such manly 
qualities as pluck and total abnegation of self, he was 
equally admired by the members of every club in Pall 
Mall. The result was that Mr. and Mrs. Sandford ’s “at- 
homes” were invariably well attended, and fashionable 
dowagers with marriageable daughters would flock to his 
doors. 

On this occasion there was something decidedly original 
in the appearance of Mr. Sandford ’c house. The ground- 
floor, instead of consisting of a dining-room, library, and 
smoking-room, as one usually finds in such houses, was 
entirely given up to the accommodation of model fire-en- 
gines. The brass fittings were brilliantly polished, and 
beneath the boilers prepared fuel was so arranged that it 
could be lit at a moment’s notice. Gas jets were always 
burning under the boilers, so that should a fire occur, by 


74 


OUR RADICALS, 


the time the horses were put-to the firemen would have no 
delay in getting up steam. 

On the occasion of Mr. Sandford’s evening parties these 
fire-engines were prettily decorated, and the hospitable 
chief of the fire brigade spent much time in explaining the 
mechanism of the various engines to those who were 
interested in them. These little reunions had a peculiar 
charm of their own. There was no stiffness, and no one 
seemed bored. Although there was no lack of titled per- 
sonages, the guests were not invited merely for their social 
position, but because they were representative people in 
the various walks of science, literature, and art. No man 
in London had a larger circle of acquaintance than the 
Chief of the London Fire Brigade. 

In one room a number of telephones were placed, which 
communicated with every quarter of the metropolis. 
Should a fire break out in any part of London, a bell would 
ring in this apartment and information at once be com- 
municated as to the nature of the conflagration. Orders 
would be immediately issued to the various inspectors 
under Mr. Sandford’s command; and if the case were of 
sufficient urgency to need his immediate presence he would 
at once proceed to the scene of the disaster. 

Among Mr. and Mrs. Sandford’s visitors on this occasion 
were Lady Tryington and her nieces, accompanied by 
Arthur Belper, who, although still weak, was gaining 
strength rapidly. 

Lady Tryington had been obliged to go to town for a few 
days, after the arrival of the yacht at Holyhead, and Bel- 
per had accompanied them, to make his report of the ship- 
wreck to the authorities. Mr. Metrale was also present, 
with Monsieur le Capitaine Victor Delange, the French 
military attache, and even Ricardius was among the num- 
ber of guests. Belper used frequently to be a visitor at the 
Sandfords, and on many occasions he had enjoyed the ex- 
citement of accompanying his friend at full speed to the 
scenes of some famous conflagrations, and had frequently 
exposed his life to danger in carrying out the commands of 
his friend. 

“ How elegantly Mr. Sandford has arrayed them,” said 
Blanche, to whom, much to Laura’s annoyance, Arthur 
was explaining the mechanism of the fire-engines. “It is 
a noble but a dangerous profession,” she continued; “ only 
second to that of a soldier.” 

” Well, perhaps it is; but the men have been mostly sail- 
ors at some time, and are used to the climbing. Sandford, 
Avho is always the first to risk his own life when necessarj^ 
expects the same courage from his men, and secures it. ’ ’ 

“What splendid fellows sailors can be!” she observed. 


OUR RADICALS. 


75 


“ How nobly they behaved at the shipwreck, when, with 
your soldiers, the poor fellows perished!” She shuddered 
as she remembered how nearly Arthur Belper had shared 
their fate. 

In the meantime the French affac/ie was conducting Lady 
Tryington and Laura to the room where the telephones 
were placed. 

‘ ‘ It is so different in France, ’ ’ he was saying to his com- 
panions. “There, when a fire breaks out, soldiers march 
from both ends of the street and force the people they meet 
to work in putting out the conflagration; while in this 
country there is no need of such pressure, and every one 
seems eager to volunteer assistance. ” 

“Yes,” said Sandford, who had overheard the aftoc/ie’s 
last remark, ‘ ‘ they are so eager that they are often in the 
way. But -we cannot afford to despise volunteers. Look at 
those helmets on the wall — they all belong to volunteers. 
That one, by the way,” he continued, “belongs to a friend 
of yours, Captain Belper. He is one of the best mend have, 
and more particularly if there is any danger, for then he 
sets a splendid example to the less energetic and coura- 
geous.” 

Blanche, who had entered the room as the chief was 
speaking of Belper, blushed with conscious pride as she 
heard him praised. At the same time she realized with 
fear how often he placed his life in peril ; and then she knew 
how precious that life was to her. 

At that moment one of the electric bells rang out clear 
and incessant, and the chief of the fire brigade applied his 
ear to the telephone. He then signaled to his men in the 
engine-room, and without any fuss or commotion the horses 
were put to the engines. In a few moments he was in uni- 
form, and, springing on to the foremost engine, was imme- 
diately followed by Arthur Belper and Victor Delange. 
For an instant Ricardius had imagined that he would like 
to be of the party ; but considering that his pumps might 
get very wet, he sat down behind Blanche, who, pale and 
trembling at what had occurred, was listening to Lady 
Tryington’ s remarks. 

Lady Tryington, who was a little angry at the sudden 
departure of her niece’s cavaliers, was telling Mrs. Sand- 
ford of the shipwreck, and of the marvelous escape of her 
nephew and Captain Belper. 

“ I hoped to have seen Sir Richard Digby here this even- 
ing, ’ ’ said Mrs. Sandford, ‘ ‘ but men have always so many 
engagements.” 

“He is not in London,” said Lady Tryington. “He 
started for Meltingborough a few days ago to visit some 
property he has in the neighborhood.” 


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“ Meltingborough!” said Ricardius ; “that dreadful 
place from which reports come that Lord Cromer intends 
to march on London?” 

‘ ‘ I should not be surprised if Sir Richard joins his uncle, ’ ’ 
said Lady Tryington. 

“Sir Richard is too wise in his generation to commit 
himself in that way,” said Mr. Metrale. “The govern- 
ment is too strong to be overturned. I have fifteen thou- 
sand men at my command, and we shall make an effectual 
resistance. ’ ’ 

“And while you are thus engaged,” remarked Mrs. 
Sandford, smiling, “we shall be at the mercy of thieves 
and burglars. ’ ’ 

The party soon broke up after the departure of Mr. 
Sandford. 

As Ricardius was stepping into his brougham it occurred 
to him that he would like to see a little of the fire from a 
distance. 

“Where is the fire?” said Ricardius to his coachman. 

“At the Foreign Office, sir, Downing Street. ” 


CHAPTER XX. 

“ Hold tight,” said Mr. Sandford to his friend, the mo- 
ment they reached the street. 

The advice was not out of place, for the moment that 
the horses felt the reins slackened they started forward at 
a gallop. Two firemen v,^ere standing behind and shouting 
at the top of their voices to warn people that the fire-engine 
was approaching. 

“ C'est magnifiqueP^ said Victor Delange, as they darted 
through the streets at racing speed. “How well the fellow 
drives!” 

“ He would not be here if he didn’t do so,” said Sand- 
ford. 

“Look, look!” exclaimed Victor Delange; “the sky 
seems to be on fire. ” 

As they approached the scene of the conflagration, the 
sparks were shooting up through the clouds of smoke from 
the roof of the Foreign Office and the adjoining public build- 
ings. A crash was heard, and there rose a vast crimson lake 
of fire to the heavens above, lighting up the faces of the 
crowds in the streets with a lurid glare. 

‘ ‘ Great God ! ’ ’ exclaimed Sandford. “ It is serious. The 
Indian Office has caught as well.” 

“The prime minister’s residence, too,” said the driver. 

“ Look to your business,” called out the chief. 

The mounted police were drawn up across the street, and 
were endeavoring to keep the crowd in order, and prevent* 


OVR RADICALS. 




ing them from passing the cord. The black helmets of the 
mounted police glowed beneath the light from the reflected 
flames, and their horses, from the excitement of the scene, 
became restive and unmanageable. 

A cheer arose from the assembled crowds as the fire- 
engines came tearing down the street, and the crowd gave 
way to admit them to the front of the burning buildings. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

All the members of the cabinet assembled at the counci 1- 
meeting held in the Foreign Office. 

The prime minister, accompanied by Lord O’ Hagan 
Harton and Lord Hartigig, were the first to arrive. Mr. 
Buttertongue and Sir Charles Able, the secretary of state 
for foreign affairs, had later on j)ut in an appearance. Sir 
Charles was the only man in the cabinet who was respected 
by friends and foes alike. From his singular talents and 
undoubted veracity he ought certainly to have been prime 
minister. An advanced Radical, he \vas yet a patriot in 
the truest sense of the word, and it bitterly mortified him 
to feel that the party to which he belonged had carried out 
policies at home and abroad so utterly contrary to his own 
ideas. However, much as he was opposed to the principles 
of his colleagues, he would not give in his resignation, lest 
he should be the first to break up the party. He could 
have been a member of the coalition government had he 
wished, but sore as the temptation had been, he had never- 
theless stood firm to his side. 

“ I think we are all assembled,” observed the prime min- 
ister, looking round “ Let me see, Mr. Stead yfile and Lord 
Camberwell are not here.” 

In a few minutes the Earl of Camberwell and Mr. Steady- 
file entered the room. 

“Capital!” said Mr. Cumbermore; “and now to busi- 
ness.” 

Later on the prime minister said : 

“ It would be fatal to our party to dissolve at the present 
time. ’ ’ 

“There can be no doubt about that,” said Mr. Steady- 
file. 

“We must remain in office at all hazards,” said Sir Pop- 
lar Burly man. 

“Now with reference to Lord Cromer,” said the prime 
minister. “You have heard the reports, which are unfort- 
unately too well founded. Here is the copy of the speech he 
is said to have made, and it justifies me in having his lord- 
ship arrested on a charge of high treason.” 


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“ Certainly,” said Sir Poplar Burly man; “but who is to 
arrest him? His position is strong.” 

“Metrale will see that it is done,” answered Mr. Cum- 
bermore, ‘ ‘ and I am sure that you are all agreed as to the 
advisability of the thing. ” 

No dissenting voice being heard, the prime minister con- 
tinued : 

‘ ‘ Our troops have again been defeated in Ireland ; we 
must remember that it will be impossible to conceal that 
fact from the public many more hours. When it is an- 
nounced there will be terrible excitement in the city and 
throughout the country. ” 

“ Have you full particulars?” said Sir Poplar Burlyman. 

“ The details at present are as follows: Lord Saxborough, 
in whom we placed implicit confidence, encountered the 
rebels near Tallaght. Saxborough’ s dispatch says that all 
went well at the commencement of the engagement; but 
after a time two of his Irish regiments, that had been sent 
to support an attack on the enemy’s left, suddenly de- 
serted. Seeing this, he dispatched two cavalry regiments 
with orders to attack the American contingent from the 
rear, as their general had neglected to support his left 
wing. Our cavalry had nearly succeeded in effecting this 
movement when they were assailed by an overpowering 
number of the rebels, and prevented from carrying out 
their orders. The day would have been ours, had Lord 
Saxborough had one more regiment at his command; but 
the loss of the 21st Dragoon Guards turned the scale in the 
Fenians’ favor, and he had to retire, leaving Dublin in the 
possession of the rebel forces. He has intrenched himself 
at the mouth of the tunnel, and if we can only supply him 
with reinforcements he is confident of ultimate success. 
Our losses are heavy, but the actual number is unknown 
at present. The enemy suffered terribly, but their force 
is still great in numbers. At present,” continued the 
prime minister, “ Lord Saxborough must remain quiet, for 
every man I can rely upon will be required to defend Lon- 
don should Lord Cromer advance. ’ ’ 

“ Do not let any more go at present,” said Lord O’ Hagan 
Harton ; ‘ ‘ we must be protected. ’ ’ 

“If it were not for the strong public feeling in England, 
I should say let the United States annex Ireland,” remarked 
Sir Poplar Burlyman. 

“That is all very well,” said Mr. Steadyfile; “but what 
a cry there would be from people who have property there !’ ’ 

“ Property be d d!” said Sir Poplar Burlyman. 

“So it is nearly,” said Lord Camberwell. 

“ What is this trickling from the ceiling?” said the lord 


OVR RADICALS. 


79 


chancellor, as some liquid fell upon his hand; “ it is not 
water. ’ ’ 

He shook the drops from his hand into the fire, and it 
was at once clear that the liquid was of an inflammable 
nature. Going to the door, he called to one of the under- 
secretaries, who should have been near at hand. To his 
surprise there was no one there; but a fearful scream 
reached his ear, and, rushing to the adjacent room, from 
whence the cry emanated, he found an unfortunate man in 
flames. From the ceiling of this room, too, an inflam- 
mable liquid was steadily dropping, and the corridor be- 
yond was filled with dense clouds of smoke. It was evi- 
dent that the building was on fire. Lord O’ Hagan Harton 
would have made his escape at once, had not the only 
means of escape, viz., the corridor, been cut off. Eeturn- 
ing to the council chamber, he informed his colleagues of 
the state of affairs. All was confusion and consternation. 
Each man looked anxiously at his neighbor as they realized 
the gravity of the situation. Sir Charles Able was the 
only man who retained his presence of mind, and at once 
proceeded to the corridor to ascertain what means of egress 
it offered. Returning, he said : 

“The corridor is a mass of flames; all hope must be 
abandoned in that direction. ’ ’ 

As he spoke, a crash was heard in the distance. 

“ The staircase has fallen!” said Lord O’ Hagan Harton, 
wringing his hands; “ what are we to do?” 

Mr. Cumbermore opened the door, and a vast volume of 
smoke entered through the aperture. 

“We must keep the door closed,” said Sir Charles Able. 
‘ ‘ The balcony is our only chance of escape. ’ ’ 

Opening the window. Sir Charles Able walked on to the 
little parapet, followed by the other members of the cab- 
inet. There was not much room for them to. stand on the 
small inclosure, and they were eighty feet from the ground. 

A shout of encouragement arose from the crowd, as they 
saw the inmates of the building crowd upon the balcony, 
and it was renewed as a fire-escape arrived upon the scene. 
It was placed against the building, but it was immediately 
seen that at least forty feet intervened between its summit 
and the balcony. Another ladder was attached, but still it 
Avas impossible for the prisoners to descend, and the strain 
of a third would have been too great. At this point Cap- 
tain Sandford arrived, and at once grasped the situation. 

“ It is useless trying to reach them at that altitude,” he 
observed. 

Arthur Belper had been looking up at the balcony with a 
view to proposing some means of escape, when he discov- 
ered that the people on the parapet were the members of 


80 


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the cabinet. The populace had hitherto not recopiized the 
familiar faces of Mr. Cumbermore’s minority ; but imme- 
diately the neAvs spread, a revulsion of feeling took place. 

“ Let them burn!” shouted a number of voices; but the 
majority, actuated by better feelings, though cherishing the 
same political hatred toward the sufferers, cried down the 
inhuman mob. 

It was a very critical moment. The floor of the corridor 
had already given Avay, and forked tongues of fire were 
forcing themselves through the loAver windows of the build- 
ing. The heat was overpowering from below ; and from 
above some molten lead was falling from the roof, some of 
which had dropped down the neck of the lord chancellor, 
who, yelling with agony and paralyzed with fear, had 
doubled himself up in one corner of the balcony. 

The only man unconcerned for his own personal safety 
was Sir Charles Able, who, perfectly alive to the dangerous 
situation, was nevertheless disposed to take the matter 
philosophically. He had tried everything in life, and had 
been successful in most of his undertakings. He had, on 
account of his position — not on account of his abilities — been 
flattered and fawned upon by women in all sorts and con- 
ditions of life. Though he had never loved, he had many 
times been enslaved, and indeed would never have been in 
his present pitiable plight but for the ambitious promptings 
of a clever woman. 

To sum his character up in a few Avords, he Avas a splen- 
did animal; and, looking upon life as a comedy, and the 
world the stage upon which it Avas i)erformed, he had begun 
to tire of the performance, and would have been glad to 
experience a future existence, were it only for the sake of 
trying something neAv, and escaping from the thralls that 
bound him to a party absolutely opposed to his innate ideas 
of justice and order. 

By his side stood Mr. Buttertongue, the religious enthu- 
siast, Avho, with a text in his mouth that nearly choked 
him, trembled and quaked at his approaching doom. 
Another crash was heard behind them, and it Avas seen 
that the floor of the council chamber had partly fallen 
through, and the flames from beneath were rushing upward 
and nearly touching the windows, Avhich cracked from the 
excessive heat. Every on(i, except Sir Charles Able, moA^ed 
further from the AvindoAv to the edge of the balustrade, 
thereby doubling the strain on the balcony. The lord chan- 
cellor, eager to change places Avith the prime minister — aaTio 
had. gained a temporary advantage over his friend — would 
have upset all the rest of the members in his efforts had he 
not been restrained by the strong arms of Sir Charles 
Able. 


OVR RADICALS. 


81 


“If you struggle so, the balcony will give way,” said 
Mr. Buttertongue, ‘ ‘ and we shall be lost. ’ ’ 

“Keep him hack ! — keep him back !” shrieked the prime 
minister and Sir Poplar Burlyman. 

“Be courageous,” said the prime minister a moment 
afterward, assuming a virtue he did not possess, as he saw 
Lord Beckonsbury, the late prime minister, in the court- 
yard below. 

Lord Beckonsbury had been passing the Foreign Office in 
his carriage, when the conflagration was reaching its 
height, and Belper, who was in command of one engine, 
had ordered the police to let his lordship pass through the 
crowd. On Belper informing him of the state of affairs, 
his lordship had expressed a hope that some means of es- 
cape would be found for them. 

Meanwhile, seeing that any other means of rescuing the 
unfortunate men was out of the question. Captain Sand- 
ford had dispatched some mounted policemen to procure 
some strong netting, which he proposed to suspend from 
ladders, for the unfortunate ministers to leap into. The 
only fear was that the messengers would not return in time 
to save them. 

The heat was becoming unbearable on the balcony. Mr. 
Buttertongue and Sir Poplar Burlyman had fainted, and 
Sir Charles Able, who was near to the window, knew that 
the moment the glass fell out of the frames there was noth- 
ing to keep the flame from reaching them. 

A deafening cheer arose at that moment from the millti- 
tude below. The policemen were returning at full gallop, 
bearing what appeared to be several gigantic flshing-nets. 
Sandford had already placed four flre-escapes in the form 
of a square under the building, and in another moment the 
more active men of his force were seen climbing the lad- 
ders, bearing the corners of the nets in their hands. 

“ The strain will be tremendous, ” the chief had said ; “at- 
tach the nets with every care.” 

The sufferers in the window at once discovered Sandford ’s 
design — his last words even had reached their ears, as the 
chief shouted his orders. They looked at eeich other with 
dismay depicted on their countenances. 

It seemed a terrible alternative — for at least flfty feet 
divided them from their only chance of deliverance. 

The people in the courtyard below were breathless with 
excitement. 

“One at a time!” shouted the chief, at the top of his 
voice ; ‘ ‘ one at a time ! Jump for your lives !’ ’ 

The moments were precious, and an ominous crack was 
heard from the windows at their back, which, in spite of 
the volumes of water that were being poured into the back 


82 


OUR RADICALS. 


of the building to quench the flames, would inevitably give 
way in a few minutes. 

“Mr. Buttertongue and Sir Poplar Burlyman are in- 
sensible,” said Sir Charles Able; “they must be thrown 
over first.” 

Eaising these gentlemen by their shoulders and legs, 
their colleagues lifted them to a level with the balus- 
trade. 

“ Over with them!” shouted the chief, whose voice was 
distinctly heard in the painful silence which had fallen on 
the crowd. 

The quick eye of Captain Sandford had discovered a 
stream of molten lead gradually making its way down the 
roof of the building. In another five minutes it would be 
falling in a cascade of fire upon the heads of the unfortu- 
nate sufferers. 

The determined way in which Sandford repeated his com- 
mands had a due effect. Swinging them in the air, and 
ultimately releasing their hold, the insensible men fell with 
lightning rapidity into the net— Sir Poplar Burlyman first, 
and after him Mr. Buttertongue. Firemen were waiting 
on the rungs of the ladder to release the victims from their 
position, and with great speed the two ministers were taken 
from the net, which had given slightly in the fall, and were 
being borne down the steps to the excited crowd. 

The next to fall was the prime minister, who lost his 
balance, on gaining the top oi the balustrade, and nearly 
paid for it with his life. He was, however, taken out in- 
sensible but unhurt. The others, seeing the good fortune 
of their colleagues, hastened to follow their example. The 
last to jump was Sir Charles, who was able to descend the 
ladder without even the assistance of the firemen. 

“They have to thank you for their lives,” said Lord 
Beckonsbury to the chief of the fire brigade, offering his 
congratulations. 

“ I am glad they are safe,” answered Captain Sandford. 

“Yes,” replied Lord Beckonsbury; “it will be time 
enough for them to experience that sort of punishment in 
the next world. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXH. 

The morning sun gilded the turrets of Cromer Castle. 
The lord of the mansion had recovered from the effects of 
the narcotics administered to him by Metrale’s agents. A 
cry for speedy vengeance had been raised by many of his 
adherents, and some had gone so far as to entreat his lord- 
ship to assemble a court-niartial to try, and inflict summary 
punishment upon, the two detectives. 


OUR RADICALS. 


83 


One of the prisoners was Mr. Jumbleton, and when Sir 
Richard Digby had spoken to him, his fear of never seeing 
Mrs. Jumbleton again so worked upon his mind that he 
consented to give Cromer any information he might want, 
if his lordship would only spare his life. He had already 
informed Sir Richard Digby of the prime minister's com- 
plicity in the plot, and remembering that Captain Belper 
was Sir Richard’s most intimate friend, and that Belper 
had been to the office several times about Eugene, he 
thought that he might perhaps influence the baronet to 
speak on his behalf, by unfolding what he knew of the 
mystery attaching to the boy, and the reasons which in- 
duced Metrale to be so reticent on this subject to those in- 
terested in the lad’s parentage. He had already hinted 
that he knew more about this matter than he cared to tell, 
and at length, on Sir Richard’s promising to intercede with 
his uncle, he divulged what he knew of Eugene’s anteced- 
ents. 

“You remember, sir,” said Jumbleton, “ on the first oc- 
casion Captain Belper canie to the chief’s office, he brought 
a letter of introduction from you?” 

“Well?” 

“ Mr. Metrale at once set me and my wife, who is un- 
commonly clever in these matters, to ferret the matter 
out. She went straight to Paris, and ingratiated herself 
with some of the Fenian brotherhood, and eventually 
learned that the boy was not French by birth, but English; 
and, moreover, heir to a large property in England. His 
uncle, in fact, was a peer, and no less a person than Lord 
Cromer.” 

“ What do you say?” said Sir Richard Digby, with aston- 
ishment. “ Lord Cromer has no nephew but myself, and 
I have no children, therefore your statement has no truth 
in it whatever; your wife must have been misinformed.” 

“lam sure you will be convinced she was right,” said 
Jumbleton; “my wife is a shrewd woman, and she dis- 
covered that 'the original idea of the Fenians was to keep 
the child in their custody, he being the heir to the estate, 
and in time, if Lord Cromer in any way interfered with 
their plans, to inform him of the existence of the child, 
and threaten to kill him if his lordship refused to act upon 
their instructions.” 

“But Lord Cromer had only two brothers,” said Sir 
Richard Digby ; ‘ ‘ one who died at twenty-six years of age, 
unmarried, and my own father, who had but one son. ’ ’ 

“ How do you know that Lord Cromer’s brother was un- 
married?” 

“ It was never supposed that he married.” 

“But it was a fact,” answered the detective. “Lord 


84 


OUR RADICALS. 


Cromer himself knows very well that his brother contracted 
a mesalliance with a French actress. He is also aware that a 
child was born of that union, and that shortly after his birth 
the child disappeared. All this Lord Cromer knows as well 
as I do ; but as he believes the child to be dead, and as you are 
his heir, he has never thought it well to mention the mat- 
ter to you. The Fenians have constantly corresponded 
with his lordship, but he has refused to see the child, and 
affects to disbelieve the whole story. One of these letters 
from Moonlight Barry, the Fenian chief, contained the in- 
formation that unless Lord Cromer ceased to denounce the 
Irish agitators the child would he destroyed by drowning. 
His lordship ignored the threat, and but for Captain Belper 
the boy would be to-day in ‘ kingdom come.’ ” 

‘ ‘ Why, then, did Metrale not inform Captain Belper at 
once of this state of things?” 

“For the best of reasons,” replied the detective. “He 
had informed Mr. Cumbermore instead, and the prime 
minister, for state purposes, preferred to be the sole person 
aware of the existence of Lord Cromer’s heir. He knew 
that the child was in safe-keeping, and thought that some 
day he might obtain an advantage over Lord Cromer by 
telling him that he could point out the real heir to the 
estates, and supplant the only person his lordship cares 
one jot or tittle about in the world— that is, yourself.” 

“I can hardly believe it,” said the baronet, thought- 
fully. 

‘ ‘ If you doubt my statement, ask Lord Cromer himself ; 
you will find, if he speaks the truth, that my words will be 
corroborated.” 

Sir Eichard Bigby, on leaving Jumbleton, went straight 
to Lord Cromer’s apartments. The general was alone with 
Sir Edward Eighton; and they were comparing notes over 
a map stretched out on the table before them. 

“ Ah, it is you, Dick,” said Lord Cromer, as he heard his 
nephew’s footsteps. “We are making our final arrange- 
ments. If it had not been for those two scoundrels, I 
should have marched upon London three or four days 
ago.” 

“What news have you from town?” said S-ir Eichard; 
“ anything satisfactory?” 

“ Quite,” said his lordship. “ The people are becoming 
more dissatisfied every day with the government ; Down- 
ing Street has been set on fire, and Cumbermore and his 
colleagues nearly perished in the flames. ’ ’ 

“That was undoubtedly the work of the Fenians,” said 
Sir Edward Eighton. 

‘ ‘ Yes, they may have had a finger in the fire, ’ ’ said Lord 


85 


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Cromer, his face darkening the while. “These scoundrels 
are capable of any atrocity.” 

“ The prime minister escaped, then?” said Digby. 

“Yes; here is the account— read it. I see a friend of 
yours. Captain Belper, distinguished himself.” 

Sir Richard Digby sat down to read the account of the 
fire, while the two generals continued studying the map. 

“ The effect of marching from four different points on the 
city will be to completely paralyze the action of our oppo- 
nents. My spies tell me that Metrale’s plan is to march out 
of London and invite an attack, hoping that the volunteers, 
of whose courage he has but a poor opinion, will be awed 
by the sight of his myrmidons of the law. He will be 
powerless when he hears we are marching from four 
points, and he will have to divide his force if he wishes to 
keep us out of London. ’ ’ 

“ The troops in Ireland have been defeated again, I see,” 
said Sir Richard Digby. ‘ ' They have fallen back on their 
original position at the mouth of the tunnel.” 

“ Ten thousand more volunteers are on their way to join 
us,” observed Sir Edward Righton. 

“Yes,” said Lord Cromer; “I expect to have a force of 
nearly eighty thousand men with me when I begin my 
march.” 

Shortly after this Sir Edward Righton left the castle to 
inspect the arrangements made for the reception of the 
expected corps of volunteers, and Lord Cromer was left 
alone with his nephew. 

Sir Richard had only affected an interest in the paper he 
was holding before him ; in reality his mind was engrossed 
with the revelations the detective had made to him. 

“You are looking ill, Dick,” said Lord Cromer, anx- 
iously. 

“I am fairly well,” replied Sir Richard, “but I have . 
just had some information imparted to me by one of the 
prisoners, and it has quite upset me.” 

“ What about?” 

“ About the child who was lost in Paris some thirteen 
years ago, but who now, it appears, is alive and well. ’ ’ 

Lord Cromer started at this sudden announcement, and 
turned pale. The conversation had taken a turn he had 
not anticipated. 

“I wish to be frank with you,” continued Sir Richard, 
looking his uncle steadily in the face. “Is the story true 
or false ? Had my uncle Henry a son?” 

Lord Cromer hesitated a moment, then, seeing that 
his nephew was determined to have an answer, he spoke : 

“It is a pity that all the scandal Henry created in the 
family could not have been buried with him ; but you ask 


86 


OUR RADICALS, 


a plain question, and I will not conceal facts from you. 
My brother Henry’s wife had a child — whether he was 
Henry’s son or not, God only knows; anyhow, my brother 
did not deny his paternity. ’ ’ 

“ And the boy disappeared?” 

“Yes, suddenly, one evening, when out with his nurse 
on the boulevards. Woman and child disappeared, and I 
had hoped never to return, for my affections were always 
set upon you, and I wished you to be my heir.” 

Lord Cromer rang the bell, and ordered the detective to 
be brought before him. 

Mr. Jumbleton repeated his statement ; and even assured 
Lord Cromer that the account of the child’s abduction, the 
name of the woman who had abducted him, and every fact 
connected with the case was registered in a book in Mr. 
Metrale’s possession. 

Nothing more could be learned from the prisoner, and, 
ordering him back to his cell. Lord Cromer was once more 
alone with his nephew. 

“ And so your friend Belper saved the boy’s hfe?” 

“ Yes: and the lad is still with him.” 

‘ ‘ It cannot be true — it cannot be true !’ ’ said Lord Cromer ; 
“there must be some treachery at work. If the worst 
comes to the worst,” he continued, “and Henry’s iU-begot- 
ten son is to be heir to Cromer Castle, not one farthing of 
my funded money shall he have ; and every tree that grows 
on this land shall be cut down, and turned into money for 
you.” 

The peer took his nephew’s hand affectionately, and sink- 
ing into a chair, covered his face with his hands. 

Digby saw that Lord Cromer wished to remain undis- 
turbed, and, with one compassionate glance, he turned and 
left the room. 


CHAPTER XXIII. ' 

“ So they are really not much the worse after the fire,” 
said Laura Tryington to C^tain Belper ; ‘ ‘ and you behaved 
so nobly ! Do you know. Captain Belper, you are my ideal 
of a hero!” 

“ Really, Miss Tryington? then I should recommend you 
to elevate the standard of your ideals. But where is your 
cousm this morning?” 

“ I suppose, as she dwells in a hermitage,” said Laura 
Tryington, contemptuously, “ she wishes to be considered a 
recluse. ’ ’ 

Hermitage was a picturesque residence at Wimbledon 
that Lady Tryington had taken for a shoH time. It was 
an old-fashioned building— probably of the time of Queen 


OUR RADICALS. 


87 


Anne— and the large grounds surrounding it were thickly 
planted with fine old oaks. 

Blanche, whose health was still very indifferent, had felt 
the benefit of the change ; and Dr. Planselle, who attended 
her, opined that with time and rest she would become con- 
valescent. 

. Arthur Belper was a frequent visitor at the Hermitage. 

He would ride over to Wimbledon, and spend two or three 
hours with Lady Tryington and her nieces, entertaining 
them with military and political news, which he had de- 
rived from official sources. In return Laura would play 
her favorite pieces to him, upon a fine Erard ; and Blanche 
would sing, with a feeling that could not fail to touch the 
listener, some quaint old English and German ballads. 

Here, then, was a grand field for Lady Tryington to ex- 
ercise her talents as a match-maker. Belper, however, 
divided his attentions so fairly between her two nieces that 
it was very difficult to say for which of the two he had a 
predilection. One day she thought Laura was the favored 
one, because he talked more to her than to her cousin ; but 
the care and reverence which he threw into the most 
trifling attention paid to Blanche left it in Lady Tryington’ s 
mind a perfectly open question. 

Laura was greatly piqued at the conduct of the young 
officer; and Lady Tiyington herself was becoming indig- 
nant at what she considered to be trifling with the affec- 
tions of her nieces. Would it not be prudent to discourage 
his presence at the Hermitage? This she would undoubt- 
edly have done but for the fact that in a few days he would 
be leaving Wimbledon, and perhaps in that time he might 
declare his intentions. 

Arthur Belper was absolutely ignorant of Sir Richard 
Digby’s movements — no news having reached London of 
the baronet’s adherence to Lord Cromer. In fact, Belper, 
urged thereto by the prime minister and other influential 
gentlemen, had almost committed himself to use his serv- 
ices against the proposed invasion. 

Mr. Cumbermore, who had learned from private sources 
that the idea of placing nets to release the cabinet ministers 
from their perilous position on the night of the fire had 
emanated from the fertile brain of the young captain of 
dragoons and not from Mr. Sandford’s, had lost no oppor- 
tunity of showing Belper how much he appreciated his 
services. 

“ Will Mr. Metrale’s police ever make good soldiers?” 
inquired Laura Tryington. “They are splendid men to 
look at; but will you be able to teach them to hit a 
target?” 

“ That is the difficulty,” replied Arthur. “As you saw 


88 


OUR RADICALS. 


yesterday when we rode over to the butts, they are very 
indifferent marksmen.” 

“ 1 am a fair shot myself,” said Laura, “ and would cer- 
tainly enlist under your banner, Captain Belper.” 

“ She is certainly a good sportsman,” said Lady Trying- 
ton, joining them as they sat by the piano. “ She used to 
go out salmon-fishing every morning last year, and very 
well she looked in her Highland costume. ’ ’ 

And Lady Tryington cast an approving glance at her 
niece. 

‘ ‘ I hope Digby will ask us again to his property in Scot- 
land,” continued Laura Tryington, addressing Captain 
Belper. “ I never enjoyed myself so much anywhere, ex- 
cept on the yacht after you came. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Lady Tryington, will you allow me to take places for 
you and your nieces to-morrow ar a field-day at Wimble- 
don? Metrale is going to parade his entire force, in num- 
ber about eighteen thousand.” 

“ I suppose Mr. Cumbermore will be there?” said Lady 
Tryington, evasively. 

“Yes,” answered Captain Belper; “and all the cabinet 
ministers.” 

“Here is Blanche,” said Lady Tryington. “If she is 
well enough to accompany us, I shall be d^elighted,. ’ ’ 

To Laura Tryington’s great annoyance Blanche accepted 
the invitation, and it was arranged that the two young 
ladies should ride to the common about three o'clock on the 
next day, and that Lady Tryington should witness the 
march past from her carriage. 

‘ ‘ I had no idea you cared about reviews, ’ ’ said Laura, sar- 
castically, to her cousin. 

“ I have never seen one,” was the reply, “ and I am curi- 
ous to see what it is like.” 

“Have you heard from Digby lately?” said Arthur, 
after a pause. “ It is two or three weeks since he was in 
town.” 

A servant entered before Lady Tryington could reply, 
with a letter for Captain Belper. 

“It is from the very man I was speaking of,” said 
Arthur, glancing at the handwriting. 

‘ ‘ Open it, ’ ’ said Lady Tryington. ‘ ‘ It may contain some 
interesting news for us all.” 

The letter was not a long one — Digby ’s never were. 
From it Arthur learned for the first time that his friend 
had joined Lord Cromer, and that in a very short time 
they would march upon London, and force the government 
to dissolve Parliament. Digby concluded by asking Arthur 
to join them at Meltingborough Castle. 

“JIq is too late in the field,” said Arthur. “ Cumber- 


OUn RADICALS. 


80 


more has been very kind to me, and I must keep my word 
to him.” 

“Even if your conscience were to tell you that he is 
wrong, and Lord Cromer is right, ’ ’ suggested Blanche. 

“Soldiers ought never to indulge in a conscience, I 
should think, ’ ’ said Laura. ‘ ‘ They should obey the powers 
that he.” 

“Well,” said Arthur, “Mr. Cumbermore is the sov- 
ereign’s prime minister, and so long as the sovereign does 
not order me to do otherwise I shall obey his government, 
much as I regret being in opposition to my old friend.” 

“ It would be horrible if you were to come into collision, ” 
said Lady Tryington. “It is horrible enough to realize 
that we are on the eve of a civil war, and at the end of the 
nineteenth century. ’ ’ 

“ Men, I suppose, love fighting for the excitement it pro- 
duces,” said Blanche; “but I sympathize in this case with 
Lord Cromer. ’ ’ 

Arthur made no answer, but this remark, coming from 
one usually so quiet and reserved, struck him forcibly. 

Laura was delighted at the opportunity afforded her of 
taking up the cudgels for Captain Belper. 

“I am afraid I am prejudiced,” said Blanche, “ against 
Mr. Cumbermore, who, in my opinion, seeks only his self- 
aggrandizement, and cares little for the welfare of his 
country.” 

Again Arthur kept silence; but as he was riding back 
from Wimbledon, with Eugene by his side, the boy won- 
dered what could have made his deliverer so thoughtful. 
Arthur was thinking of Avhat Blanche Tryington had said, 
and wondering in himself how powerful was the influence 
over a man of the woman he loved. 

“ And it would not be love,” he murmured, “if it had 
not the power to make us think right wrong and wrong 
right.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Great annoyance had been caused to the Fenians in 
London by the failure of the plot to destroy the members 
of the cabinet assembled in the Foreign Office. It had, 
moreover, resulted in the arrest of Mike, Moonlight Barry’s 
lieutenant. 

The conspirators feared that their agent had been induced 
to divulge some of the secrets of the brotherhood ; orders 
therefore had been given to change the place of meeting, 
and Barry had bought a small trading- vessel which was 
lying in the docks. He had given out that this ship would 


90 


OUR RADICALS. 


shortly sail for the West Indies, and that he was awaiting 
cargo. 

The members of the secret society, under the guise of 
sailors, assembled on board, and there considered what step 
they should next take to vitally injure Mr. Cumbermore 
and his government. Barry had learned that it was the 
intention of the government to withdraw the troops from 
Ireland through the tunnel. He also knew that the English 
general in command had determined to fight one more 
battle before he coihmenced a retreat. The Fenian head- 
center had, moreover, discovered that all the supplies and 
ammunition for the army in Ireland were transmitted 
through the tunnel. If this means of communication could 
be destroyed, Barry thought that the English troops would 
be at the mercy of the Irish national army and their allies. 
He was aware that Lord Cromer and his volunteers had re- 
solved to march upon London ; but, owing to the difficulties 
the general had experienced in organizing his commissariat, 
it was thought that some time must yet elapse before he 
could commence a forward movement. Hence, for the mo- 
ment, he need not, according to Barry’s calculations, be 
considered an actor on the scene. 

It appeared to Barry that the moment was ripe for action 
on the part of himself and his conspirators. With this idea 
in view, he convened a meeting of the chief centers of his 
party on board the trading-vessel. One by one they as- 
sembled on the boat, Metrale’s agents little thinking, as the 
sailors passed them, that they were the very men they were 
in search of. 

“ It will not be necessary for me to detain you long,” 
said Barry to his accomplices; ” I wish to speak with you 
of a plan I have in contemplation. ' It is to destroy this 
end of the Irish Channel Tunnel, and thus cut off ali sup- 
plies and reinforcements from reaching the troops in Ire- 
land. There are several ways of carrying out this idea, but 
all of them are difficult to execute, on account of the watch 
kept on our movements in this country. I have sent for 
you, hoping that some of you may be able to devise a plan 
for reaching the object I have in view.” 

A murmur of satisfaction followed the speech of the chief, 
and a long silence ensued, broken at length by the voice of 
Maggie. 

“Could not some dynamite be prepared as coal, and 
placed on one of the engines? This exploding, say half- 
way across the sea, would probably destroy the tunnel.” 

“ I have thought of that,” said Barry; “but it is open to 
objection. The tunnel is several hundred feet below the 
sea, and, great as the explosion would be, it would not in 
all probability have the desired effect.” 


OUR RADICALS. 91 

“ Would it not be possible for us to undermine this end 
of the tunnel?” suggested one of the conspirators. 

” The process would be too tedious,” said Barry. 

“I have a suggestion to make,” said a short, thickset 
man, who some years before had been well-known as an in- 
fluential Home Euler at Westminster. His attendance at 
the meetings was very rare, but he was supposed to have 
even greater influence than Barry with the conspirators. 

” You know the forts that have been erected at a con- 
siderable expense, ” continued Sullivan, “at the mouth of 
the tunnel V ’ 

“Yes,” replied Barry. 

‘ ‘ In one of these forts there are wires connected with 
mines beneath the submarine railway. These mines were 
laid several years ago at the instance of Lord Cromer, who 
was from the first opposed to the idea of the Channel Tun- 
nel, but who, seeing that all his warnings were of no avail, 
endeavored, and successfully too, to neutralize the danger 
to his country in the way I have mentioned.” 

“But I do not see how that is to help us,” said Barry; 
“ the wires are in the fort, and to destroy the tunnel we 
must first obtain access to the battery. The forts are 
some distance from the sea, and carefully guarded day and 
night.” 

“ It is not necessary to enter the fort at all,” replied Sul- 
livan. “ The wires run from the fortifications to the tun- 
nel, passing underneath a coastguardsman’s house. One of 
us might replace this man, or put him out of the way, and 
then dig down to the wires, and connect them with one of 
our own batteries, and thus destroy the submarine pas- 
sage. ’ ’ 

The conspirators looked at each other at the conclusion 
of Sullivan’s remarks, and, from the murmurs of satisfac- 
tion, it was evident that the idea was received with some 
favor. 

“ Three would be sufficient to undertake the business,” 
continued Sullivan ; ‘ ‘ more would create suspicion. I will 
take the lead in the matter, and, with Maggie’s assistance, 
I have every hope of success. ’ ’ 

“We had better meet once more to mature our plans,” 
said Moonlight Barry, “ and then let the blow be struck at 
once.” 

Arrangements having been made for another meeting, 
the conspirators withdrew, Maggie remaining on deck with 
the chief to take some further instructions. 

“Have you seen Eugene lately?” Barry said, when they 
were alone. 

“Yes; he is still in Belper’s care, and appears to be de- 
voted to him.” 


92 


OUR RADICALS. 


“Our threat to destroy the boy had no effect on Lord 
Cromer; he does not seem to care for his heir.” 

“His affections are set on Sir Eichard Digby,” said 
Maggie. 

“Well, for the present it will be best to leave the boy 
alone, so long as we can put our hand on him if necessary. 
How go matters at Meltingborough?” 

“Well, his force is continually increasing ; the last ac 
count states that he has more than enough men to take 
London.” 

“And reconquer Ireland,” added Barry, between his 
teeth. “ Lord Cromer must die !” 

“ What !” exclaimed Maggie, “you do not propose his 
assassination?” 

“I would.” 

“It would be dangerous and useless,” said Maggie. 
“ Digby, his nephew, who is quite as able a man, would 
take up the cause. If you wish to do any good, you must 
kill them both.” 

“ I know, I know,” murmured .the chief. “ Would you 
undertake the business?” 

“For God’s sake, Barry, don’t ask me!” cried Maggie, 
trembling and turning pale. “ I have done enough.” 

“We are fighting a war of independence,” said Barry, 
encouragingly. “ Our enemy has the advantage of wealth 
and numbers. It is for your country that you do these 
things, and for that cause you will take in hand the assas- 
sination of Cromer and Digby. Besides, you must obey; 
you are in our power.” 

“You do not think to terrify me by this threat, do you?” 
said Maggie, haughtily. “I should have thought you 
knew me too well by this time to imagine for a moment 
that I fear either yo\ir threats or death itself. ” 

“No, no— no, no!” said Barry, hurriedly; “ your courage 
and zeal have been too often proved for me to doubt you, 
and for that reason I ask you to rid us of these two ene- 
mies. 

“Reflect,” he continued, after a pause; “should Cromer 
live to carry out his projects, England will hold up her 
head once more. England only requires a determined 
man at the head of her affairs to rule her as a dictator. 
Cromer is just such a man. He could reconquer not only 
Ireland, but all her lost possessions. Now there are only 
two men capable of making a coup detat in this country. 
The one. Lord Cromer, who has dreamed of the dictator- 
ship for years past ; the other. Sir Richard Digby, who has 
talent enough, but no eliergy. These men, as you know, 
have the volunteers at their feet ; and the day they enter 


OUR RADICALS, 


93 


London and dethrone Ciimbermore, they strike at the same 
time a death-blow to our cause. ” 

‘ ‘ Do you ask me at once to attempt the lives of these 
officers?” said Maggie. 

” Not immediately; three weeks must elapse before Lord 
Cromer can move his force. The English general in Ire- 
land will not return for some time, as he is hoping that our 
people will make an attack upon his intrenchments. For 
the present we are safe, and you can assist Sullivan ; but 
when the tunnel is destroyed, and the British troops are 
cut off from England, then I commit Lord Cromer and his 
nephew to your charge.” 

Maggie left the vessel without a further reply to Moon- 
light Barry’s proposal, and, walking through the docks un- 
suspected, entered the heart of the mighty city. 


CHAPTEE XXV. 

Meantime, in London, as in the days just preceding the 
invasion of Rome by the barbarians, all was revelry and 
mirth. Governments might come in or go out ; what sig- 
nified it to the rich and luxurious inhabitants? Even the 
day appointed for the view of Metrale’s forces was a signal 
for amusement, and the roads to Wimbledon were crowded 
with troops marching to the rendezvous, and carriages con- 
taining people eager to see the spectacle. The members of 
the Alcibiades Club had even forsaken their comfortable 
lounges for the jolting drags that were to take them to the 
scene. They were curious to learn the amount of physical 
exertion that it would be necessary for them to undergo 
should they, as it had been rumored, be compelled to take 
up arms against Lord Cromer. Ricardius and Wild Thyne 
were among the number ; the latter, too old to serve him- 
self, being much amused at the alarm of his companions. 

“What are you thinking about?” said Wild Thyne to 
Ricardius. 

“ I was wondering,” answered his friend, with a languid 
smile, “ what will happen to London ten years hence.” 

“ Don’t consider such questions,” said Wild Thyne; “it 
is really too hot for such reflections. Of course everything 
will belong to the peoplq, and you and I will be in the work- 
house.” 

“Well, we shall have our own society, at any rate,” said 
Ricardius. 

The carriage halted for a moment, as they were near 
Wimbledon, and in a string of vehicles which extended for 
nearly a mile. A favorable position had been reserved for 
Mr. Cl imbermore and his friends. Belper had obtained an 
order to admit Lady Tryington’s carriage into this incloS’ 


94 


OUR RADICALS. 


ure, and Wild Thyne and Eicardius were among the fa- 
vored few. Lady Tryington was delighted to find, on 
looking around, that many of her most intimate and influ- 
ential friends had been unable to obtain a place in this par- 
ticular position, and her opinion of Belper grew immensely 
when she considered that it was to him she owed this ad - 
vantage of being an object of envy to many of her dear 
friends. 

Horace Delooney and Mrs. Eyder, who were conversing 
together, on recognizing Lady Tryington, at once ap- 
proached her carriage. They had been unable to obtain 
admission to the inclosure, but could speak to her over the 
railing. 

‘ ‘ So glad to see you, dear Mrs. Ryder, ’ ’ said Lady Trying- 
ton, reaching forward to shake the hand of the editor's 
Avife ; ‘ ‘ and you too, Horace. It is some time since we 
met. ’ ’ 

“ I called at your house only last week,’' said Mrs. 
Ryder, “but a strange servant told me you had gone 
abroad.” 

“Yes,” added Deloony, “too bad of you, really; and to 
take your charming nieces away.” 

“Have you not heard of our adventures at sea?” said 
Lady Tryington. 

“ Only some rumors, ” replied Mrs. Ryder; “but do tell 
me the whole story. ’ ’ 

“ What a pity it is you are not in the inclosure!” said 
Lady Tryington, inwardly delighted. “I should have to 
scream, so I will tell you another time. Come and lunch 
with me at the Hermitage the day after to-morroAv. ’ ’ 

“ What, have you taken that charming place?” said Mrs. 
Ryder. 

“Yes; I have taken it while the yacht is being refit- 
ted.” 

At that moment Lord O’ Hagan Harton approached the 
carriage, and Lady Tryington turned to greet him. 

“ How dreadfully old she is looking!” said the editor’s 
Avife to Horace Deloony. “And how she paints! Quite 
ridiculous at her time of life.” 

“But she is a clever woman,” said Horace. 

“Yes; her politics are like the Vicar of Bray’s religion. 
She is in with everybody, Conservatives and Radicals; and 
she holds her own with both. ’ ’ 

“ Here is Ryder,” said Deloony. 

“Take me to see Colonel Metrale,” whispered Mrs. Ryder 
to her husband ; ‘ ‘ that horrid Lady Tryington is in the in- 
closure. He can get me admittance, I should think.” 

“ If he does not,” said Ryder, the editor, “ he shall smart 
for it in the (^crawler, ” 


OVR RADICALS. 95 

With these words the editor led his wife away in search 
of Colonel Metrale. 

In the distance they could see Blanche and Laura Try- 
in gton riding toward Lady Tryington’s carriage, accom- 
panied by Arthur Belper. His men had already taken up a 
position for marching past, and, as half an hour would 
elapse before the time appointed for the commencement of 
the review, the young ofhcer was escorting the ladies about 
the ground, and pointing out to them the various bat- 
talions. 

“I would not have missed this for anything,” said 
Blanche, brushing back from her brow the fair hair which 
the wind had blown over her face. 

“Look at my battalion,” said Arthur, with a smile of 
satisfaction; “ splendid fellows, are they not?” 

“Their very appearance should frighten Cousin Dick’s 
rebels into submission,” said Laura, looking full into Bel- 
per’ s eyes. 

An orderly galloped up, and, making his salute, said: 

“A dispatcU for Captain Belper.” 

“ I am Captain Belper. ” * And Arthur read the missive. 

“After the review,” it ran, “march your battalion to 
London with all speed ; the Fenians are at work upon some 
mischief. I will join you.” 

After leaving the ladies with their aunt he hurried back 
to his men. 

It was a grand sight to witness those eighteen thousand 
newly-levied volunteers march past the little knot of 
officials. 

As the troops arrived near the flag posted in the center 
of the ground the illustrious gentlemen moved forward to 
receive the salute. 

Metrale rode past at the head of the division, his cocked • 
hat and black cutaway tunic made more conspicuous by 
reason of the white charger he bestrode. 

Battalion after battalion passed the inclosure, the last to 
arrive being Belper’s men, whose splendid appearance 
elicited many complimentary remarks from the specta- 
tors. 

“They may march with the steadiness of a wall,” said 
Wild Thyne; “ Wt the thing we want in a soldier is for 
him to shoot well. Cromer’s volunteers will pick them out 
long before their physical superiority can come into play.” 

The review was over, and Belper rode some little distance 
beside Lady Tryington’s carriage, occasionally turinpg to 
converse with Blanche, who rode with her cousin behind. 

“Ah,” said Wild Thyne, as he rode past, “he will lose 
that five hundred!” 


96 


OUR RADICALS. 


‘ ‘ Think so?’ ’ said Eicardius. ‘ ‘ The lily or the rose? The 
blonde or the brunette?” 

“The lily and the blonde, of course!” replied Wild 
Thyne. “Do you not see how he devotes himself to 
Blanche, and how mad the other one is?” 

“Poor thing!” said Eicardius, leaning back against a 
cushion; “ he is to be pitied if he marries.” 

“Pitied!” said Wild Thyne, “ I should think so! Men 
are loved for their rank, their money, and sometimes their 
looks — never for themselves. Faugh! women are hypo- 
crites ever!” added the old cynic. 

“Yes,” said Eicardius, “ women are like flowers — pretty 
to look at ; but their beauty fades directly you pluck them. 
Poor devil!” 

This final exclamation referred undoubtedly to Belper, 
and was repeated many times during the drive from Wim- 
bledon to the doors of the Alcibiades Club. 

CHAPTEE XXVI. 

Sullivan and his accomplices had not waited long in 
London after it had been decided by the Fenian Brother- 
hood that an attempt should be made to blow up the Irish 
Channel Tunnel. Soon after the final meeting they were 
traveling in a first-class carriage from London to Holy- 
head. 

“Tt cost a terrible lot of money to make,” observed Lam- 
bourne, one of the conspirators. 

“Some millions,” was the reply. “When it was first 
started the directors said it would only cost a compara- 
tively small sum ; but the water came in on several occa- 
sions, and they found the amount of expenditure pretty 
heavy at the end. It was a regular job to make money on 
the part of the directors — like many other companies in 
England. Talk about the acts of the Fenians ! why, what 
we do is nothing compared with the ruin which these 
speculating companies bring upon many of their country- 
men; and they will even endanger their own country to 
turn a few pounds over for themselves. In society, what 
is more despicable than selling children to the highest 
bidder? And yet one sees that every season, and men bet 
on it, and women’s lives are made wretched by it. Money ! 
money! money! These Saxons would sell their souls for 
it!” 

“Well,” said an American Fenian, “ in the States people 
don’t despise the dollar, I bet.” 

“ Perhaps not, but there is far more true patriotism in 
America than in England.” 

Maggie sat back in the carriage, taking little heed of the 


OUR RADICALS. 


97 


conversation of her friends. She was thinking of the orders 
she had received to assassinate Lord Cromer and Sir Eichard 
Digby. 

Where had she seen Sir Eichard Digby before she met 
him on the yacht? There had been something in his face 
which recalled to her memory the features of one whom 
she had known in her earlier life. But she could never 
pollect the link, and in despair she turned her thoughts 
again before her. 

It was a windy night, and the rain heat violently against 
the windows. The Fenians arrived at their destination, 
and Sullivan at once proceeded with his companions to a 
small roadside inn, called the Shamrock. The Shamrock 
was a very respectable hostelry, and although a favorite 
resort for Irishmen, it had never given any cause for anxiety 
or vigilance on the part of the police. The Irish in the lo- 
cality were a well-behaved body of men. They had most 
of them been employed in the construction of the tunnel, 
and had remained there after its completion, having found 
comfortable homes in the neighborhood. Being an honest 
class of men themselves, they had not returned to their 
country, owing to the absence of law and order there, and 
the unsuppressed crusade against property in all parts of 
that rebellious island. It had commenced by an ignorant 
class of tenants refusing to pay their rents to the landlords, 
in which illegal course they were supported by intelligent 
traitors, who were even allowed to hold seats at West- 
minster. Mr. Cumbermore and his colleagues refused to 
employ martial law, even when murders were committed 
throughout the land, and this because, in Meltingborough 
and other large towns, there were thousands of Irish electors 
who gave their vote to the Eadical interest, and who would 
withdraw it if a straightforward and manly policy were 
substituted for the vacillating measures of which they ap- 
proved. It was an interesting study for the disinterested 
observer. Continental statesmen viewed it with incred- 
ulous astonishment. The reign of terror in Paris in the last 
century was surpassed in horrors by that now inaugurated 
in Ireland. Yet the people of England did nothing. They 
ate, they drank, they smoked, they slept, and were indif- 
ferent to all the murder and confiscation of property 
going on around them. 

The host of the Shamrock was on very friendly terms with 
all the Irish who patronized his house. 

In spite of the early hour he was standing at the door 
of his inn, his hands thrust to the bottom of his capacious 
pockets. 

“What, up before the sun, Patrick?” said Sullivan to 


98 


OUR RADICALS. 


him, at the same time cordially shaking his hand. ‘‘My 
friends, Patrick, ’ ’ he added, introducing the conspirators. 

Mr. Patrick Whiler nodded his head with a sign of rec- 
ognition. 

“What can Sullivan and his party want at Holyhead?” 
thought the landlord, as he showed them to their rooms. 

His wife, to whom he returned, was asking herself the 
same question, for she had some experience of secret 
societies, and she knew that Sullivan was an important 
member of the chief center. 

Sullivan did not let the gi'ass grow under his feet, but 
before an hour elapsed he was on his way to the scene of 
their future action. He halted about half a mile from the 
fortifications, and within a hundred yards of a coast - 
guardsman’s house. There was a small plantation adjoin- 
ing the road which led to his building. After looking 
round to see that he was unobserved, the Fenian jumped 
over the hedge which divided him from the inclosure, and, 
advancing to the edge of the copse, looked intently at the 
cottage. Drawing a pair of field-glasses from his pocket, 
he submitted the building to the minutest investigation. A 
woman came to the threshold, apparently intent upon 
some domestic duty. From her appearance Sullivan 
judged that she was the coastguardsman’s wife. A few 
minutes later Sullivan observed a man dressed in a pilot’s 
jacket, and wearing a sailor’s hat, approach the dwelling, 
and two boys rushed forward to meet him. 

“Evidently that is our man,” said Sullivan, as he 
watched him enter the cottage ; ‘ ‘ and not a very formi- 
dable fellow to encounter. But now to see what other in- 
mates there are. ” 

Taking off his closely-buttoned cloak, Sullivan appeared 
in a sailor’s jersey, and substituting a slouch hat for the 
one he wore, his resemblance to a seafarer was complete. 
Leaving his other garments in the wood, he approached 
the cottage. No one hearing the sound of his footsteps as 
he reached the entrance, he tapped lightly at the door. 

“What ho, there!” shouted a voice from within, and the 
coastguardsman, coming forward, scanned the features of 
the new arrival. 

“ What do you want?” 

“ I have not eaten a crust since yesterday morning, ” said 
the seafarer, with that whining tone so often heard among 
the peasantry of Ireland. 

“Give the poor creature something,” said a voice from 
within. 

“Come in, then,” said the coastguardsman, “come in. 
Maybe she will find you a cup of milk and a hunch of 
bread.” 


OUR RADICALS. 


99 


Sullivan expressed his thanks, and entered the dwelling, 
following his benefactor into the little parlor, whi(3i 
served as kitchen and dining-room. 

“ There,” said the housewife, ” eat and be thankful.” 

“Yes,” said the coastguardsman ; “work’s difficult to 
get, mate, and when you’ve got it, it’s very hard. Here 
am I up at all hours, and getting only eighteen shillings a 
week, for preventing hundreds of men from escaping the 
custom-house officers. And if I only shut one eye some- 
times, and let them land their cargoes, I might get as many 
pounds as I do shillings.” 

“ Yes,” said his wife; “ but then you are an honest man, 
and I am prouder to be your wife and share your poverty 
than walk in silks and satins and live in terror of detec- 
tion. ” 

‘ ‘ All very well, my dear ; but how are we to start the 
boys in life on honesty?” 

The Fenian sat listening to the conversation, and eagerly 
devouring the meal that had been placed before him. 

“Ah! I know what suffering is,” he said at length; “but 
I am going to Holyhead with the hope of good luck. A re- 
lation of mine has landed there, and he has made a power 
of money in foreign parts. If I get what I expect, you shall 
not be forgotten. ’ ’ 

Leaving the cottage, he stayed one minute in the copse 
to change his attire once more, and then returned to his 
friends. 

‘ ‘ I have done well,-’ ’ he said to the Fenians, whom he 
found gathered round a table smoking and drinking. 
“The coastguardsman and his family occupy the cottage 
on the cliff, and I do not think it will even be necessary to 
use force.” 

“Then how will you settle the matter?” inquired Mag- 


gie. 

“ My idea is this. I have told this man that I am ex- 
pecting to meet a relation in Holyhead. You, Lambourne, 
can personate my uncle ; and you, Maggie, his niece. To- 
morrow we can hire a carriage, and drive in the direction 
of the tunnel. I will then take you into the cottage, and 
you can thank the people for their kindness to me, and 
invite them to pay you a visit on board your brig. 
The chief has rented a small one, as you know, and it 
is manned by our friends. They will receive the whole 
family on board, and I shall return with Maggie to the 
cottage.” 

“ But how are we to explain matters to the people here?” 
said Maggie, who was very skeptical as to the wisdom of 
such a course. 

“ We must announce our departure for London,” said 


100 


OUn HADICALS. 


Sullivan. “ Take tickets, and get out at the next station. 
Then walk to the brig and sleep on deck. There we shall 
be more independent. The people here, I know, are not to 
be trusted.” 

” You need fear nothing from me!” exclaimed a voice, 
suddenly. 

The conspirators started. The sound came from the ceil- 
ing of the room. On looking up, Sullivan could discern a 
small hole, which doubtless communicated with the floor 
above. 

“ I shall be with you directly, if you will give me admit- 
tance, ’ ’ continued the voice. ‘ ‘ I am a friend. ’ ’ 

” That is the innkeeper’s wife, ” said Maggie to the aston- 
ished Fenians. 

“Damnation!” exclaimed Sullivan; “she must have 
divined our secret.” 

“ Never mind,” said Maggie. “ She seemed a friend, not 

a foe; and if she proves the latter ” and here she looked 

at Lambourne, who made a gesticulation as if he were 
strangling something between his Angers. 

A tap at the door was heard, and Mrs. Whiler, the inn- 
keeper’s wife, was admitted. She looked straight at Sulli- 
van, as if she knew him to be the chief of the party, and 
then glanced round at the other conspirators. 

“You have played the spy upon us,” said Sullivan, 
doggedly. “You may not know the penalty.” 

“Yes, I do,” answered Mrs. Whiler, calmly; “but it 
would not be worth your while to inflict any punishment 
on me if I can be useful,” she added; “ and you probably 
know I have proved my devotion to the cause by affiliating 
myself with one of the societies. ” 

The conspirators consulted together in low tones for a 
few moments, while Maggie kept her eyes Axed on the 
resolute countenance of the innkeeper’s wife. 

“ We have decided to trust you,” said Sullivan, at length, 
“and to acquaint you with the details of our plot.” 

The chief conspirator then unfolded the method in which 
they had determined to blow up the tunnel. 

“It is a good thing you have told me all,” said Mrs. 
Whiler, in reply. “ I know the wife of this coastguards - 
man, and have often stopped in the cottage. ’ ’ 

“ Have you ever been in the cellar asked Sullivan. 

“ Yes ; on several occasions. ’ ’ 

“ Is there a well by the wall at the back of the house?” 

“ I have never noticed it, ’ ’ said the woman, after a pause ; 

‘ ‘ but there is a board covering something, and probably it 
is that.” 

Sullivan drew from, his pocket a plan, and placed it on 
the table. 


OUR RADICALS. 


101 


“I received this tracing from one of the affiliates in the 
Intelligence Department of the army. He Avas employed to 
copy the original plan for the secretary of state for war, 
and at the same time he made one for himself. These fools 
of officials think their servants are to be trusted ; they will 
find out their mistake Avhen it has cost them the flower of 
their army. By this plan, the wires from the forts run 
underneath the cottage, and pass within a few feet from 
the bottom of that well. The cottage Avas originally built 
for an electrician in the pay of the War Office, and he had 
the shaft constructed in order to make some experiments 
Avith earth currents. It Avas feared that as the mines 
below the tunnel had been charged with dynamite, some 
earth current might possibly be strong enough, in connec- 
tion with one of the Avires, to ignite the charge. The en- 
gineer Avas ordered to solve this problem. He did so, but 
forgot to have the shaft filled up when his task Avas com- 
pleted.” 

“ It will have to be the scene of our action,” said Maggie; 
at the same time pointing to Mrs. Whiler, and adding, 
“ Let her go this afternoon and paA^e the way for our visit 
to-morroAv.” 

“ Do you consent?” asked Sullivan. 

‘‘Anything for the good of the cause,” replied Mrs. 
Whiler. 

And arrangements were made that the inkeeper’s wife 
should carry out her share in the plot, and that the 
Fenians should leave the Shamrock that same evening, os- 
tensibly for London, but practically foi the deck of the 
little brig. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

The review at Wimbledon having proved a success, the 
members of the cabinet began to feel a little more secure. 

Their general in Ireland, however, was still in great diffi- 
culties. He could only receiA^e his provisions and supplies 
through the tunnel, and Avas, moreover, surrounded by 
foes on all sides ; but at the same time, the position he held 
was good, and he had rendered it almost impregnable by 
earthworks. If he Avas not strong enough to attack the 
Irish, they were not powerful enough to advance upon him 
Avith any hope of success. 

On three occasions, when Lord Saxborough had vent- 
ured to attack the enemy, he had been obliged to retire, 
after leaving a considerable number of his men dead upon 
the battlefield. 

American reinforcements AA^ere daily expected in Ireland, 
and the English ships AA^ere engaged in bringing back British 


102 


OUR RADICALS. 


troops from Hindostan, and could not therefore interfere 
with the movements of the American cruisers. Mr. Cum- 
bermore was not openly at war with the United States, but 
the United States were acting toward England in a very un- 
friendly manner. 

If Lord Saxborough could hold out until the English 
troops arrived from India, it would enable him to increase 
his force by some thirty thousand men. This was pre- 
supposing that Metrale’s force would be able to resist Lord 
Cromer’s advance upon London, which was daily expected. 

Lord Cromer had not been able to carry out his intentions 
as speedily as he had anticipated. There were considerable 
difficulties in procuring transport ; and not only that, but in 
insuring discipline. At the outset of the campaign Lord 
Cromer felt that it would be necessary to treat his men 
exactly as if they were regular troops. Acting upon this 
determination, he allowed no night roistering, no singing 
after roll-call, or any other kind of levity; and on two 
occasions very severe punishments had been inflicted upon 
some soldiers who had taken some poultry from a neighbor- 
ing farm. Lord Cromer had stated at the time that the 
sentence passed by court-martial Avas light, but that in 
future no mercy would be shown. 

Sir Eichard Digby proved to be invaluable to his uncle. 
From his long experience in India and in many parts of the 
globe the baronet could put his hands to most things. Be- 
sides being a very good cavalry officer, he understood in- 
fantry drill, and knew a good deal about gunnery and en- 
gineering. The volunteer officers were deficient in these 
very things, each man being fairly instructed in his OAvn 
art, but knoAving little of the other branches of the serAuce. 
Hence Digby had organized a military .railway corps to re- 
take the railway, should it fall into the hands of the enemy ; 
he had, moreover, formed a telegraph corps, and a body of 
signallers and traveling pointsmen, and had organized a 
system for sending round ammunition to the soldiers while 
under fire. As an experienced officer, he felt the import- 
ance of not limiting good marksmen to the regulation 
rounds of ammunition. 

The result of this action on the part of the baronet was 
that Lord Cromer’s army, which now consisted of nearly 
eighty thousand men, was fairly equipped, and provided 
with everything a general could require except artillery. 
As to cavalry, Lord Cromer had sufficient— over four thou- 
sand yeomanry having joined his movement. This last 
piece of information having reached Metrale’s ears, he was 
very much concerned, feeling, as he did, very doubtful as 
to the conduct of the metropolitan Amlunteers should an en- 
gagement take place, 


OVR RADICALS. 


m 

A cabinet council had been held, and it was resolved that 
Metrale should seize their arms and kill the sentries, giv- 
ing it out as his opinion that it had been the work of the 
Fenians. 

The volunteers, however, would not believe the state- 
ment, especially as they found one of Metrale’ s policemen 
slain by the sentry. They endeavored to rouse the public 
feeling against Metrale for his cowardly action. Metrale, 
to prevent this, ordered his men to arrest the delinquents. 
Considerable rioting ensued, and shots were freely fired on 
both sides. 

So serious were matters becoming that many of the re- 
spectable inhabitants packed up their household goods with 
the intention of leaving London. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

It was the height of the season. The fashionable world 
had commenced to give its dinners, parties, and balls, as if 
no great disaster were impending. 

Play was higher than ever at the clubs and the Alcibiades 
was forced to extend its premises on account of the in- 
crease in the number of its members. The Democrats, how- 
ever, were at work, and had succeeded in pulling down the 
houses in Belgrave Square and other fashionable retreats, 
and converting them into model lodging houses for the 
poor. Mayfair, even, was threatened with demolition. 

A great irreligious movement had taken place, inaugur- 
ated by an individual of humble origin, who publicly de- 
clared his atheistic principles, and refused to take the cus- 
t’omary oath on being elected a member of Parliament. . A 
feeble opposition was raised at the time, but he was sup- 
ported by the prime minister, and the movement gained 
ground rapidly. 

Several young men who loved notoriety, and saw how 
easily this individual had acquired it, announced them- 
selves to be, if not atheists, at any rate disciples of the 
“ Know-nothing-for-certain ” school. They raised sub- 
scriptions for the publication of disreputable papers, and 
for the building of temples where this new creed could be 
preached. Many leading men of society joined the ranks, 
and it became fashionable to belong to the new sect. Mem- 
bers even of the Alcibiades Club were among the number, 
led by the impulsive and imprudent Ricardius. 

The movement was confined to the upper ten thousand, 
and did not at any time extend to the middle and lower 
classes of the community. The way had, to a certain ex- 
tent, been paved by some distinguished ladies, who had not 
hesitated, for some years past, to make the questions of ^ 


104 


OVR RADICALS. 


future state, future punishment, the difference between 
soul and mind, subjects of frequent conversation. Discus- 
sions on free thought, carried on sotto voce even at dinners, 
were matters of ordinary occurrence. 

Women, not content with thinking themselves the equals 
of men in every respect, were continually stating it, and 
speaking of their sex as an injured and down-trodden race. 
They smoked, told each other stories with doubtful morals, 
and why should they not belong to the “ Know-nothing- 
f or-certain ’ ’ school as well ? 

It was a great change, after the attempt that had been 
made by the reactionary movement of the Anglican Cath- 
olics to re-establish in the State Church an elaborate ritual, 
and revive the confessional. 

This movement had met with some success at first, es- 
pecially when the clergy appointed as confessors were seen 
to be men of a prepossessing appearance. It had been re- 
marked that many middle-aged ladies, who had not pre- 
viously been conspicuous by , their attention at worship, 
had suddenly become unable to bear the burden of their 
own sins, and were therefore forced to make frequent 
visits to the vestries of the different clergy. They found, 
however, in time, that it was difficult to confess everything 
without implicating some other pei’son ; and the novelty 
having worn off, the confessional began to lose popularity, 
and retreated in favor of the “ Know-nothing -f or-certain ” 
school. 

Yet it must not be supposed that by the new religion,” 
as it was sometimes called, people became more cruel or 
more indifferent to death ; on the contrary, Societies had 
sprung up in every direction to prevent cruelty even to 
animals, and it was a matter of discussion as to whether it 
was not an inhuman act to a horse to ride on his back. 
There was, besides, a great fear of death among people in 
general — much more than in the old days, when they were 
brought up to believe in something, and to believe in that 
implicitly. It was an age of change. Lady Tryington and 
Laura were frequent attendants at these temples, much to 
Blanche’s grief. Arthur Belper had accompanied tady 
Tryington on several occasions — more, it must be con- 
fessed, to gain favor in the eyes of his friend than for any 
partiality he evinced toward the sensational movement. 

“We have just returned from the Ncav Temple,” he once 
said to Blanche, “and Wild Thyne addressed us in most 
eloquent terms.” 

“I suppose,” said Blanche, quietly, “he told you to be- 
lieve in nothing, but expected you to believe in him.” 

“It was a pity you were not with us,” said Laura. 


OUR RADICALS. 105 

“His remarks were most thrilling — even Eicardius was 
moved to tears.” 

“ What is done with the collection?” said Blanche, smil- 
ing. “ I suppose you have one?” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Laura. “Wild Thyne says it goes 
toward spreading the glorious freedom of thought which is 
so important a feature of the new religion.” 

“Yes,” observed Belper; “ when Mr. Cumbermore abol- 
ished the English Church, he little thought how soon an- 
other religion would take root in the hearts of the people. ’ ’ 

“ Was it not better in the old days?” said Blanche, with 
her sweet voice, which carried conviction to the heart of 
Arthur Belper. “Was it not better in the old days, when 
people went to church with gratitude in their hearts which 
they wished to express, than to go, as you do now, to be 
amused? Why not go for such a purpose to a theater, if 
that is all you require? Anyhow, so long as one church 
exists holding to the faith of our fathers, to that church I 
shall go, and not to your temples, where they pull down 
every old faith, and call it old-fashioned, and give you 
nothing in its place.” 

“After all,” said Lady Tryington, “Wild Thjme’s idea 
is not a new one. I have heard that in China and Japan 
preachers discourse upon many secular subjects from 
their pulpits.” 

“ Only think of Wild Thyne preaching about the last 
new fashion, or aesthetics as an adjunct to faith !” exclaimed 
Laura, laughing. 

“ Well, my dear,” said Lady Tryington, “ my poor, dear 
husband once declared that the majority of women went 
to church to have their dresses admired, and the men to 
admire them ; so I think it would be a very appropriate 
subject.” 

“I do not see, aunt,” said Blanche, with some impa- 
tience, “ how we have benefited by all the changes we have 
undergone. Everybody is unsettled in consequence, and 
in time there will be nothing and no one worthy of re- 
spect.” . , 1 1 

After a time, Belper was conversing with Blanche alone 
by the Avindow, Avhile Lady Tryington and Laura were 
trying some new music upon the piano at the other end of 
the large drawing-room. 

“You do not believe in this new religion?” Blanche said, 
looking into his face Avith an appealing glance. “Your 
life is worthy of a better object.” 

“ It is a noble object in life which I lack,” he ansAvered. 
‘ ‘ I have no one who Avould be sufficiently interested in me 
to care whether I ever find one or not.” 


106 


OVR RADICALS, 


“Are you sure of that?'’ she said, softly. “Why, Dick 
is your devoted friend. ” 

“ Alas! he is now my enemy. We serve two masters, 
said Arthur. “ You will not think less of me because I am 
obliged to fight against him?” 

“ No, indeed I will not. I honor your respect for duty, 
and I wish you well. ’ ’ 

“As well,” he said, passionately, “as when you gave me 
a white rose at Hurlingham? I never see those flowers but 
I think of that gift.” 

“ So slight a token of my regard for you, and of my ad- 
miration for your courage, you treat too seriously.” 

“ I am going this time into a more serious contest,” he 
said, softly; “ and I cannot go without one more token of 
your regard for me. ” 

Blanche cast her eyes upon the ground, and he could see 
that his words had moved her deeply. She busied herself 
in arranging some flowers that stood in an epergne by her 
side. 

“ When do you expect to go?” she said, 

“ To-night. I have received an intimation from Metrale 
that the prime minister will require my services on some 
important business this evening, and I am requested to be 
in readiness to depart at any moment.” 

“ To-night?” she said, sorrowfully. 

“Yes, to-night. Will you not give me a talisman that I 
may carry wiDi me for my safety in all dangers?” 

Blanche bowed her head once more over the flowers 
she was arranging ; when she raised it again her eyes were 
filled with un fallen tears, and in her hand she held a small 
red rose. As she gave the flower to the voung officer, her 
soft, white fingers lingered for a moment in his. 

“ May it bring you back in safety,” she said, softly. 

Nothing more was said. It was her good-bye. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Eugene’s relations with Belper were both intimate and 
affectionate. His education had been carefully attended to, 
and he could now speak English fairly well. To a natural 
grace of manner he added a brave and noble bearing, and 
on many occasions he had been greatly admired by Belper ’s 
friends. 

It was raining when Belper left Lady Tryington. At the 
door he was met by Eugene on horseback, and a servant 
holding a chai^er for Belper to mount. 

They rode off at a brisk pace, for there were but few peo- 
ple in the streets, and hardly any vehicles to block the way, 


OUR RADICALS. 


107 


until they came to Knightsbridge Barracks, then the head- 
quarters of Metrale’s forces. 

As they reached the entrance a brougham drew up, and 
Mr. Cumbermore and the chief of the police stepped out of 
the carriage. 

“ This is fortunate; we were in search of you,” said Mr. 
Cumbermore, shaking Belper by the hand. 

“Come to my quarters. We can talk there undis- 
turbed.” 

They proceeded to Captain Belper’s room without delay, 
emd having each of them lit a cigar began to discuss the 
situation. 

‘ ‘ Now is the time, ” said the prime minister ; ‘ ‘ we need a 
loyal and devoted man —one wTio will risk his life for our 
cause, if necessary. Are you such a man?” 

“ Undoubtedly; I hold my life of little value, if it can be 
devoted to the state. What is it you require me to do?” 

“Cromer has commenced his march,” said the prime 
minister. “We had the news two hours ago. He finds it 
impossible to utilize the railway, as our men have destroyed 
so many bridges that it would take his railway corps too 
long a time to replace them. Now, his force will take at 
least ten days to reach London, and in fact longer, if I suc- 
ceed in embarrassing his movements as I intend to do. We 
have, therefore, siiificient time to withdraw the troops from 
Ireland.” 

“Has it occurred to you,” said Belper, “that if Sax- 
borough commences to retire from his position through the 
tunnel the Irish can let in the water and drown the troops? 
The sea, with its tremendous weight and pressure, would 
fiU the tunnel much more rapidly than a train could pass 
through it. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I have thought of that, ’ ’ said the prime minister ; ‘ ‘ and 
we hav'e determined to leave three battalions intrenched at 
the mouth of the tunnel, with orders not to move till five 
hours after the other troops have started. After that, they 
may retire, and must run the risk of the enemy discover- 
ing their movements.” 

“ But what part am I to play in this business?” inquired 
Arthur Belper. 

“ We want you,” said the prime minister, fixing his eyes 
upon Belper’s countenance— “ we want you to take the 
heat and burden of the affair. Your battalion is in 
a most efficient state, thanks to your exertions; but 
your services may be more valuable to us elsewhere. 
In short, we want you to start at once for Ireland; 
take this private dispatch to Lord Saxborough, who 
will be ordered to place you in charge of the rear- 
guard the day he commences the retreat. We do not deny 


108 


OUR RADICALS. 


that it involves great danger — perhaps your death • but 
you are the only man we can rely upon, if you give your 
word to hold out till the troops have reached English soil, 
and the five hours have expired. ” 

Belper realized in a moment the danger of the situation. 
A few hours before he would have jumped at the offer ; but 
now, somehow, it seemed so hard to throw away his life. 
The sweet words of Blanche’s good-bye were ringing in his 
ears, and they unnerved him, as he thought he had seen 
her for the last time. 

“You hesitate!” said Mr. Cumbermore to the young 
officer; “I will find some other brave man for the pur- 
pose.” 

“No, no!” exclaimed Arthur, starting from his seat, and 
placing his fingers between his collar and his neck, as 
if the former was choking him. “ No, no; I will go!” 

“There is no time to be lost. When will you start?” 
said Metrale. 

‘ ‘ Now, if necessary. ” 

“ It is now half-past four, ’ ’ said Metrale ; ‘ ‘ the mail starts 
at 8.15. Here is the dispatch for Lord Saxborough.” 

“Thanks,” said Arthur, taking the document and plac- 
ing it in his breast ; “your orders shaU be carried out to the 
letter.” 

“We can trust you?” said the prime minister, inauir- 
ingly. 

“My life on it,” said Belper. 

“You are a brave fellow,” said the prime minister, tak- 
ing Belper ’s hand; “you will win your reward.” 


CHAPTER XXX. ' < 

After the departure of the prime minister and Colonel 
Metrale, Belper lost no time in making the necessary prep- 
arations for his journey. Leaving Eugene to finish the 
work, Belper sat himself down to write a letter to Lady 
Tryington, in which he said that he had been suddenly or- 
dered to Ireland, thanking them for all their past kindness 
to him, and expressing a hope that he would soon have the 
pleasure of seeing them again. 

Then he sat down and lit a cigar. His thoughts naturally 
turned upon the events which had so rapidly followed 
each other during the last few months. He— the man who 
had always expressed an antipathy to matrimony— had 
only a few minutes before wavered, when called upon to 
act for his country, on account of his love for a woman. 
How Digby would have laughed when he heard it? If he 
ever clasped hands again with his old friend, how willingly 
would he pay the £500 he had wagered upon his matri- 


OUR RADICALS, 


100 


monial prospects ! As the smoke curled from his cigar into 
the air, he sat building castles of fancy. He thought how 
he would accomplish his mission— defend the mouth of the 
tunnel until the troops had reached England, and then, 
bringing his men over in safety, he would arrive in time to 
defeat Lord Cromer, and intercede with Cumbermore for 
the life of his friend Higby. 

How pleasant it would be to welcome his friend to a 
pleasant home, after his marriage — his marriage with 
olanche ! How sweet she would look, and how happy they 
would be ! 

Dreams! pleasant dreams! And the moments passed 
rapidly by as he sat in a reverie, with his eyes half closed. 
The clock on the mantelpiece struck seven. 

“Your brougham is at the gate, captain,” said a servant, 
entering the room, and carrying away his master’s lug- 
gage. 

Buckling his sword-be^t around his waist, Belper de- 
scended the stairs, and, passing through the courtyard, 
reached the gate at which the carriage stood. 

There were very few passengers by the mail, as the 
difficulties of traveling in Ireland were much increased 
by the strict regulations imposed by the English general. 

The only way of reaching Ireland was by steamers or 
sailing-vessels from Holyhead; but on account of the num- 
ber of ships employed by the government in bringing back 
the troops from India, it was difficult to procure a passage. 
There was one passenger in the same compartment with 
Arthur, who was dressed as a minister, and who alighted 
at the junction for Meltingborough. 

Belper avoided getting into conversation with him, 
although the stranger made several overtures ; and it was 
a great relief to find himself alone, and able to take an 
hour’s sleep. 

The train rushed onward, through districts which a few 
years before had been resplendent with the furnaces of 
factories in every direction; but the factories were now 
dark and apparently uninhabited. This indeed was the 
case; for since America had developed her mining and 
coaling industries, she had been able to undersell England 
in her own markets, the result being that thousands of 
men were thrown out of employment, and factories were 
closed and fallen into ruins. 

The old country seemed played out, and those who had 
capital took it elsewhere. 

As the train stopped for five minutes at the last station 
but one from Holyhead, to allow the collector to take the 
tickets, four persons entered Arthur’s compartment. 

“ There is only one passenger,” said a voice, which was 


110 


OUR RADICALS, 


undoubtedly Sullivan’s. “ Come in here, Maggie, and tell 
Lambourne to make haste.” 

It was the very night the Fenians had arranged; to leave 
the Shamrock, on the pretense of returning to London. 
Arthur took no notice of the strangers, after the first 
glance ; but, covering himself with the traveling-rug again, 
sank into a deep sleep. Sullivan looked at him with a 
scrutinizing glance, for the officer’s uniform which Belper 
wore attracted his attention. 

‘ ‘ An officer, ’ ’ he said, in an undertone to Maggie. ‘ ‘ See, 
he has a sword on the rack, and a helmet-case.” 

“Stop!” said Maggie. “There is a luggage-label at- 
tached. I can read the name with ease. ” 

Noiselessly removing the case from the net, she held it 
beneath the lamp which illuminated the carriage. 

“ Captain Belper I” she exclaimed. “ Why, this is the 
man who saved Eugene’s life.” 

“What strange chance has brought him here?” 

In the helmet-case Belper had placed the dispatch he was 
conveying to Lord Saxborough; and as Sullivan opened 
the case by means of a spring, he discovered the docu- 
ment. 

“ What have we here?” he said, dividing the edge of the 
paper, and removing the inclosure. 

‘ ‘ The English troops are to leave Ireland immediately, 
and at all hazards. Tliey are to return to London, to resist 
Cromer’s attack. The tunnel is to be destroyed on the 
English side of the water, and Captain Belper is to com- 
mand the rear-guard. ” 

“I should not be surprised,” he added, as he replaced 
the document, after having gummed the edges of the en- 
velope where he had divided it — “I should not be surprised 
if it were destroyed just a little before the time appointed.” 

“ This is the man who protected Eugene,” said Maggie. 

“We shall deal with him by and by,” said Sullivan. 

The train stopped at a small siding as Sullivan finished 
speaking. This was the last station before descending the 
incline which led to the tunnel under the sea. 

The four Fenians left the carriage, and walked in the 
direction of the harbor. 

Smoothly and steadily the train descended . until it 
reached the mouth of the tunnel, when the pace was per- 
ceptibly increased. The r>ubmarine passage was brilliantly 
lit up by electricity, and well ventilated. So easily was 
the journey performed that Arthur did not recover con- 
sciousness until the train stopped at the terminus on the 
Irish coast. They were no longer below the water, but in 
a large station, filled with officers and soldiers in full uni- 
form. The station had been selected by Lord Saxborough 


OUn RADICALS. 


Ill 


as his headquarters, his lines of defense extending from 
the coast to a fort about two miles from the seashore. 

Captain Belper inquired for LordSaxborough’s quarters, 
and, following the direction indicated, asked an officer in 
command of a guard whether his lordship was visible. 

“ What shall I say your business is?” asked the officer. 

“Say Captain Belper, of the 21st Dragoon Guards, is 
waiting to see his lordship, as the bearer of dispatches from 
the prime minister. ’ ’ 

The officer disappeared, and presently returned accom- 
panied by a short but dignified individual, whom Belper at 
once recognized as the famous general. 

Belper saluted his superior officer, and then, handing 
Lord Saxborough the dispatch, awaited his instructions. 

The general tore open the envelope without noticing that 
it had been tampered with, and carefully read the inclos- 
ure. The old general’s brows contracted as he did so, and 
in an undertone he was heard to say : 

“Just as I had my arrangements complete for attacking 
the enemy — what an imbecile government ! You are Cap- 
tain Belper, I presume?” said the general, aloud. “ I see 
the prime minister wishes you to have the command of the 
two battalions that will form my rear-guard. I shall have 
to leave four battalions for that purpose. Have you ever 
commanded a brigade. Captain Belper?” 

“ Not in the field, general.” 

“ Ah, well, the responsibility of appointing you to so im- . 
portant a position must rest in other hands than mine. 
My orders are to appoint you to command the rear-guard. 
Will you breakfast with me at ten o’clock, and I shall have 
more to say to you?” 

Arthur, who accepted the invitation, subsequently found 
Lord Saxborough to be a much more agreeable man than 
his first interview had led him to suppose. A strict disci- 
plinarian while on duty, he could unbend, however, in 
private life, and be very agreeable. 

“You have a serious business to perform,” said the gen- 
eral, as he left his presence; “and from all accounts you 
are likely to behave nobly in the face of danger or death.” 

“I only serve my country,” said Belper; and as he spoke 
Ins hand pressed the crumpled leaves of a small red rose 
hidden in his breast. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

The four Fenians, on leaving the train in which Belper 
had traveled from London, made at once for the harbor. 
Here Sullivan, standing by the waterside, made the usual 
signal, which was answered in a few minutes, and the 


112 


OVR RADICALS, 


sound of oars could be heard as a boat appeared, rowed by 
a solitary sailor. Sullivan entered the boat, followed by 
his companions, and in a quarter of an hour they were all 
on board the little brig. 

“There is a woman waiting to see you below,” said a 
man, coming forward and touching his hat to Sullivan. 
“ She is the wife of the proprietor of the Shamrock, and as 
she gave the signal, we admitted her.” 

“ I will see her at once,” replied the Fenian leader, leav- 
ing his friends and proceeding to the cabin. 

“ Everything is satisfactory,” said Mrs. Whiler, on see* 
ing Sullivan. ‘ ‘ I have been to the cottage, and they are 
all to pay me a visit to-morrow night, and stay till the next 
morning. The coastguardsman himself cannot leave his 
Avork.” 

“Then we shall have to use force,” said Sullivan. 

“ I don’t kno w about that. I am going there to tea first, 
and if I have the opportunity to drug him, I will. They 
Avill not think there is anything wrong, as he always sleeps 
an hour after tea.” 

“If you can do it, so much the better; it will save the 
man’s life, and our OAvn work could be safely performed 
while he is asleep.” 

“ At what time do you propose to begin operations?” 

“ At about eleven to-morrow night. I shall leave Mag- 
gie here, as she will be of no use in the Avork Ave have 
before us. The battery can be taken to pieces, and Lam- 
bourne and myself can easily carry it, as well as the neces- 
sary cords. By about one in the morning the Avires will be 
connected; and if the English engineering officers have 
done their work satisfactorily, we shall then blow up the 
tunnel, and cut off Saxborough from any hope of retreat.” 

“What will you do after the explosion?” inquired the 
Avoman. 

“Eeturnhere, and make our Avay back to London as 
soon as possible.” 

“Have you any opium on board? It would not do to 
purchase any from a chemist.” 

“ For what purpose?” 

“ For the drug.” 

“No; we have no opium, but something more effective.” 

Sullivan went to a small cupboard, and, opening it, pro- 
duced a paper packet. 

“If you can administer that, it will have the desired 
effect,” said Sullivan, handing her the drug. “It is not 
perceptible to the taste, or poisonous.” 

As Mrs. Whiler left the cabin, Maggie entered. 

“ I have a letter from Barry,” said Sullivan. “ He says 
you are to make for Meltingborough at once, and ingratiate 


OUR RADICALS, 


113 


yourself with Sir Richard Digby. He will remember you 
as being saved by his yacht ; and you can state that you are 
in distress, and need his help. Then watch your oppor- 
tunity, and make use of it.” 

“I will go,” said Maggie, sulkily, and left the cabin. 

“ I wonder if she is to be trusted,” said Sullivan to him- 
self when he was alone. “ I wonder if she is to be trusted. 
Her rnanners are very strange— or I fancy they are. How- 
ever, it would be a bad day for her if she betrayed us. 
You can never trust these women— they are so full of senti- 
ment.” 

At the appointed time Sullivan and his companion ap- 
peared at the coastguardsman’s cottage, in the window of 
which a light was burning. Approaching the casement 
cautiously, the chief conspirator looked through the glass, 
and then beckoned to his companions, who were waiting in 
the distance. 

They could see the coastguardsman sitting in a chair by 
the hearth, fast asleep. 

‘ ‘ All is right, ’ ’ said Sullivan ; ‘ ‘ come along. ’ ’ 

They entered the cottage, and the first thing that met 
their gaze was a small, round table, on which stood some 
bread-and-butter and a metal teapot, which Sullivan found, 
on placing his hand upon it to be still warm. 

“Now for the cellar,” said Sullivan, taking up a lighted 
candle and descending a flight of steps which undoubtedly 
led in that direction. 

They were now about twelve feet below the ground floor, 
and, looking round, Sullivan discovered a trap-door, which 
he tried to raise. It would not, however, yield to his 
efforts, and, looking carefully at it, he found that it was 
held by a padlock. Producing a wrench, he forced open 
the door, and it was then clear that they had found the 
well they were in search of. Fixing a rope-ladder at the 
top, he proceeded to descend by it, and in a few minutes 
his companions knew that he had reached the bottom by 
the steadiness of the light he held in his hand. His ac- 
complices immediately joined him at the bottom of the pit. 
Producing his plan. Sullivan directed Lambourne to dig in 
the place he pointed out. The soil had evidently been 
turned— and not very long before— and this discovery in- 
spired the conspirators with hope. Presently a metallic 
sound was heard, and SuUivan placed his hand on his com^ 
panion’s arm. 

“Steady,” he said; “be careful; you are on the pipes.” 

This proved to be correct ; and, after scraping awaj^ some 
more earth, several tubes, each of them about two inches 
ill diameter, were 'exposed to view. 


114 


OUR RADICALS. 


“Now, the question is,” said Sullivan, “which of the 
wires are connected with the mine?” 

Breaking the burnt-clay tubings with a small hammer, 
and taking a small electric instrument from his pocket, he 
placed it in contact with one of the wires. 

“ This is no use, ” said Sullivan; “it runs about ninety 
miles, probably to Dublin.” 

As he spoke a clicking sound was heard, and, looking at 
a small hand on the face of his instrument, he saw it was 
oscillating violently. 

“ Only attend to its movements for a minute,” the con- 
spirator remarked. “ Our fellows are wiring to each other 
over the Channel ; this wire is in connection with the one 
they are employing, and my instrum.ent is repeating the 
communications. If I could arouse their attention, I might 
be able to communicate Avith the American general ; but, 
now to try the other wires.” 

They Avere each of them tested in turn, and placed in con- 
nection Avith the battery, but there was no satisfactory re- 
sult. Sullwan’s face wore a troubled expression. 

“ Perhaps there are some other wires,” said Lambourne; 
and, digging a little deeper, his spade again struck some- 
thing hard. • 

“ Another tube!” he cried, triumphantly. “Look, Sul- 
livan!” 

It appeared that this time they had found the object of 
their search. 

Sullivan immediately attached the wires to his battery, 
and then brought the ends into connection. 

“What has happened?” said Lambourne, after a few 
minutes’ suspense. , . 

‘ ‘ What has happened ?” replied Sullivan, angrily. ‘ ‘ Why, 
the tunnel is not mined at all ! or the engineers have made 
some blunder. We are here on a false errand; and, as to 
bloAving up the tunnel, not all the military engineers in the 
kingdom could do it, for there is no explosive in connec- 
tion with the wmes !” 

“ What shall we do?” inquired Lambourne. 

Sullivan did not give an immediate reply. 

Detaching his instrument from the Avires, he placed it in 
connection with the first line that had been , discovered, 
and which, by some accident, touched the wire by which 
the Fenians in Ireland were telegraphing. 

Turning the handle of his battery rapidly, he looked 
anxiously at the face of the instrument. 

“It is no use,” he said; “the current is too slight. I 
shall never attract their attention. ’ ’ 

“Look, the hand is moving!” exclaimed Lambourne. 

“So it is,” said Sullivan; and rapidly turning the 


OUR RADICALS. 


115 


handle, he commenced telegraphing to the unknown peo- 
ple on the other side of the Channel. 

“ It must be from Dublin, and Dublin is in the hands of 
the National army,” said Sullivan. 

The four letters sent by the conspirator made up the 
word used by the Fenians as a means of recognizing each 
other. 

They were at once answered by some passwords known 
only to those initiated into the secrets of the societies. He 
soon learned that the operator in Dublin, whoever he 
might be, was as high up in the brotherhood as himself 
and, in another minute, he found that he was in com- 
munication with a superior. 

“ What are you doing?” was the interrogation sent from 
Dublin. 

Sullivan explained their situation, and their intention 
of destroying the tnnnel. 

“ Stay where you are,” was the return message, “until 
I have communicated with General Stephens. ’ ’ 

“ General Stephens is the commander of the American 
contingent,” said Sullivan to his companions. 

“ The hand is turning again,” said Lambourne. 

Sullivan read as follows : 

“A battle is going on at the present moment. The 
English are retreating through the tunnel. They have left 
a rear-guard to defend its mouth. Stephens is trying to 
force their intrenched position. If he does so, we can 
floor the tunnel from our side, and drown the retreating 
army ; but if not, all we hope for is to destroy or take 
prisoners the rear-guard. Cannot you block the line and 
detain the leading train?” 

“We have no chance of entering the tunnel,” replied 
Sullivan. “ By this time the station is full of people mak- 
ing preparations for the arrival of Saxborough’s forces. 
We will, however, do our best.” 

“ Come with me,” continued Sullivan, this time address- 
ing his companions. “Pick up the tools, and cover the 
wires with earth.” 

Sullivan led the way to the room above, where the coast- 
guardsman was still sleeping soundly, absolutely uncon- 
scious of all that was going on around him. 

“Take off his uniform,” said Sullivan to Lambourne, 
pointing to the sleeper. 

Rapidly attiring himself in the slumberer’s garments, 
and taking his hat from a peg behind the door, Sullivan 
left the cottage, closely followed by his companions. 

“Take the battery and instruments back to the brig. ’ 
Sullivan said, when they were outside the door. “ I shall 


116 


OUR RADICALS. 


not require you any more. What has to be done must be 
accomplished by myself alone. ’ ’ 

Leaving his companions, Sullivan walked to the Channel 
Tunnel Station. He found every one, as he had antici- 
pated, in a great state of excitement. The place was 
crowded with guards and porters, and a company of sol- 
diers were drawn up outside the building to prevent idlers 
from entering the station. 

Sullivan’s uniform was the means of admitting him to 
the platform, and, approaching a guard, he inquired when 
the first train was expected to arrive. 

“Don’t know for certain,” said the official, “but they 
could tell you in the lookout.” 

There, at the end of the station, stood a dome-shaped 
building with a glass roof. Since the use of electricity had 
become general the railway companies, to secure them- 
selves as far as possible against accidents, had built observ- 
atories near the principal stations, which enabled the super- 
intendents to see at a glance the position of every train in 
motion. It was done in this way. A model of the line, 
on a very reduced scale, was constructed in these observa- 
tories, and on this model diminutive trains were placed. A 
current of electricity was kept up between the trains that 
were running and the model, the electricity being trans- 
mitted through The rails. As this was effected, the dimin- 
utive engines moved on the model in exactly the same way 
as the real trains were moving on the lines. The superin- 
tendent, therefore, could see at a glance the position of 
every train, and avert the danger of a collision by himself 
communicating with the guards, if necessary. This he 
could do by availing himself of the rails as a conductor for 
his battery, a similar battery being in the van reserved for 
the guard. 

In the Channel Tunnel Railway this method had been so 
accurately developed that pointsmen and signalmen had 
been completely superseded by an automatic arrangement 
in connection with the observatory of the superintendent. 

This official was not only able to see the position of every 
train, but was enabled, besides, to turn the points at the 
right moment all up and down the line by moving the 
miniature points on the model ; and, by means of elec- 
tricity, the real points would be instantly affected in a 
similar manner. 

Sullivan had often heard of this new invention, but he 
had never seen it at work, and as he opened the door of the 
observatory he was much struck by the absence of noise 
and the apparent ease with which the operator manipu- 
lated his instruments. 


OUR RADICALS. 117 

“ Can you tell me when the first troop train will arrive?” 
said Sullivan. 

The superintendent glanced at him, and then at his at- 
tire. He knew the old coastguard srnan well, and was sur- 
prised to see a new official. 

” What has happened to your mate?” said the man. 

‘*'He has gone away for a week’s leave,” said Sullivan, 
“and I have been sent here to relieve him.” 

“ Do you expect any one by the train?” 

“Yes; my brother. I thought he might be returning by 
the first train with his regiment. ’ ’ 

“ The first train to arrive will contain the Royal Muddle- 
borough Regiment of Light Infantry.” 

“Would you let me see the train on the model?” said 
Sullivan. 

Now, to comply with this request was strictly contrary 
to the rules of the company ; but as Sullivan was dressed 
as a coastguardsman, and as the railway people were con- 
stantly brought into contact with these officials, the super- 
intendent saw no harm in doing so. 

‘ ‘ W ell — yes, ’ ’ said the official. ‘ ‘ There is the train. ’ ’ 

Sullivan followed the superintendent’s finger, and he 
saw a diminutive train moving through the tunnel, fol- 
lowed closely by twenty other trains, none of them more 
than one mile distant from each other, although on the 
model they were not more than one inch apart. 

“We have had very hard work all this evening,” said 
the official, in a confidential tone. ‘ ‘ See, all these trains 
traveling in the opposite direction are to bring back the 
remainder of the troops. We have had to send every avail- 
able carriage.” 

“ How do the trains pass each other?” said Sullivan, be- 
coming interested in the conversation. 

“Very easily,” said the other. “You see there is only 
a single line ; but at certain places in the tunnel we have 
sidings — see here ! All I have to do is to touch this instru- 
ment ; and as the empty trains are shunted on to thedoops, 
the troop trains continue their journey. In another min- 
ute I shall press the spring. See, I am about to do it.” 

The idea had already flashed through Sullivan’s mind 
that here was an opportunity not to be lost. 

He Avas alone with the superintendent of the model, and 
from the platforms it was impossible that the porters and 
guards could see them, even if they had time to look. 

The Fenian felt in his pocket for a weapon. He had only 
a heavy- loaded pistol; but to fire it would be fatal to his de- 
signs. The only course to pursue AA^as to club it, and stun 
the man in charge of the model. 

Once thought of, to put the idea into j)ractice was the 


118 


OVR RADICALS. 


work of a moment. He brought the weapon sharply down 
upon the head of the unfortunate official, who fell senseless 
at the second blow. 

Sullivan looked anxiously round, but nothing had been 
heard by the people outside the observatory. Fixing his 
eyes on the model, he eagerly watched the long lines of 
diminutive trains as they approached each other. They 
were now not more than an inch apart. 

The conspirator calculated that, allowing about an inch 
to the mile, as the superintendent had stated, there would 
be a collision in a few seconds ; and as the trains were trav- 
eling between thirty and forty miles an hour, the result 
would be fatal to those traveling in the carriages. Over 
and above this, the line would be blocked by the acci- 
dent, and the progress of the troops rendered impos- 
sible. 

With eyes keenly bent on the model before him, he 
awaited the supreme moment. It came at last. The two 
engines darted into each other. On the model, all that the 
Fenian could see was that , the diminutive trains were 
stationary, while behind them, and at int^vals of from two 
to three inches, other trains were approaching from con- 
trary directions. 

He was turning to leave the observatory, when his eyes 
fell on an apparatus in one corner of the room, and a 
printed card was attached to the wall above it, containing 
instructions as to the regulation of the lights in the tunnel. 

A fiendish thought passed through the Fenian’s mind. 

“Why let them see their misery?” he said. “ Why not 
put them in darkness?” And without waiting a moment 
more to consider, he turned off the electricity . 

Leaving the observatory without' detection, Sullivan 
walked rapidly through the station, and proceeded at once 
to the coastguardsman’s cottage. On arriving there he 
lost no time in shaking off the uniform, and dressing the 
sleeper as he had been attired before. 

Then, in the dead of the night, while his wretched vic- 
tims were perishing under the sea, he hastened back to 
Holyhead harbor and gave the signal for the boat to come 
ashore. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

The arrangements for the retreat of his army had been 
made with great care by Lord Saxborough. The intended 
movements were only known to a few of his trusted offi- 
cers. The British troops had been defeated by the Ameri- 
cans and Irish, and Dublin had been taken by the enemy ; 
but as the prime minister had declared his intention at last 


OUR RADICALS. 


119 


of upholding the authority of the sovereign in Ireland, it 
was supposed that reinforcements would b^e sent, and the 
campaign carried on. Mr. Cumbermore had said that there 
might be evils to remedy, so far as the relations of England 
and Ireland Avere concerned, and that he would be ready to 
approach that question in time with a liberal and temperate 
hand, healing every sore and binding up every Avound. Let 
the Irish lay doAvn their arms, and trust to the good sense 
and impartiality of the prime minister, and then matters 
Avould come to a satisfactory issue. 

Those Avho knew the prime minister best placed very lit- 
tle reliance on his assertions, especially the senior officers 
under Lord Saxborough. They had formerly served in 
Afghanistan and South Africa, and had some recollection 
of similar promises, with no results. The government had 
announced long before, in the queen’s speech, its intention 
of vindicating the sovereign’s honor in the Transvaal; but 
three successive defeats had toned doAvn the ardor of the 
prime minister, and he had declared that so much bloodshed 
was more than his - conscience could bear, and he must 
therefore surrender the TransAmal. 

Belper, Avho was personally acquainted with many of 
the officers in Lord Saxborough’ s force, heard these dis- 
graceful reflections on the character of the prime minister 
Avith regret. Eightly or Avrongly, he Avas devoted to the 
cause of the prime minister, and to hear older officers ven- 
tilate their vieAvs in such a disheartening manner was not 
calculated to encourage him in his arduous undertaking. 
Lord Saxborough had published, in general orders, that 
Captain— noAV Colonel— Belper was to take command of a 
brigade of light infantry, and that he was to have the local 
rank of major-general. At the same time it Avas announced 
that all commanding officers Avere to see that their men 
had an extra ration of bread and meat served out to them 
at seven in the evening. 

The prevailing opinion was that an attack was to be 
made on the enemy Avithout waiting for reinforcements. 
Belper, Avho had Avalked round the outer lines of defense, 
informed the general that it was impossible to hold out 
under existing circumstances for five hours Avith the bri- 
gade under his command, and had drawn up a plan for 
forming an inner line of intrenchments, which Avere imme- 
diately commenced at the mouth of the tunnel. A meeting 
of the commanding officers was held in Lord Saxborough’s 
tent, Avhen the general informed them of his intention to 
retreat at once, and gave his final orders to Belper. He 
was to defend the mouth of the tunnel at all costs, until a 
telegram reached him to say that the main body had ar- 
rived on the English coast. By that time a sufficient 


120 


OVR RADICALS. 


number of trains would have arrived at the Irish Tunnel 
Station to convey his men back to England, when he 
would have to retire as he thought best. 

Belper with his brigade, occupied the position he had 
selected, at the same time covering with a small body of 
men the advanced lines, to induce the enemy to believe 
that no movement was taking place in the English camp. 
These outposts were to Avatch the enemy’s movements and 
report to Belper. In the meantime train after train was 
filled with troops, and at 2 a. m. Arthur received the news 
that the main body had started for England. 

It was an anxious moment. Would General Stephens at- 
tack his position before daybreak? If he became aware of 
the English retreat, doubtless he would ; and then, should 
Belper be unable to resist the attack, the flower of the En- 
glish army would perish in the tunnel, for the enemy would 
be sure to flood it. 

On the other hand, it was a splendid opportunity for Bel- 
per to distinguish himself, should the Irish make the at- 
tack; and he wals not without some hope that they would 
do so. 

He walked about in the center of the first line of intrench- 
ments, encouraging the men with kind words, and consult- 
ing with the officers standing about. 

From the first line of intrenchments the • ground sloped 
for about one hundred yards, and up to that distance the 
enemy could approach with tolerable security ; for Belper 
could not weaken his defending force by extending his men 
in a wider line. Once, however, at the bottom of the 
slope, the enemy would have to sustain the full effect of 
the English soldiers’ fire before they could carry the posi- 
tion. 

In Arthur’s battalions ‘there were not more than fifteen 
hundred fighting men ; but then they were picked shots, 
and to every company there Avas attached one of the neAv 
machine-guns which had recently been adopted by order 
of the board at the War Office. 

The position occupied by Belper Avas in form like a half- 
moon, the two ends pointing toAA^ard the sea, and the center 
of the circumference facing the enemy’s position. The ma- 
chine-guns had been placed at the two sides .of the half- 
moon, so that its destructive poAvers could be brought to 
bear upon the flank of the enemy as Avell as the front. 

It was as much as the three battalions could do to occupy 
the position ; and Belper, to his annoyance, found that he 
could not afford a reserve, but would have to push every 
available man to the front in case of an attack. 

There was a second line of intrenchments about tAAm hun- 
dred yards from the tunnel, and they might be held, even 


OOR RADICAL(^. 


101 


if the first position was successfully stormed ; but should 
this be carried, too, not an Englishman would be left alive. 

The men were lying in their places behind the earth- 
works, wrapped in their greatcoats, and with cartridge- 
boxes, holding five hundred rounds of ammunition, for 
pillows. They were sleeping tranquilly, and dreaming, per- 
haps, of wives and friends in England; of battle-fields in 
India and Africa ; of the day when they first smelt powder ; 
of the shells that had fallen in their midst ; of the incessant 
firing ; of the smoke and confusion ; of their dead comrades ; 
and of the hurrahs that followed a successful field. There 
were few among them who had not learned to be as indif- 
ferent to the whistle of the bullet as to the peas shot from 
the mouth of some truant schoolboy, and there was not an 
officer or man there who quailed at the peril of his position. 

On the eve of a battle officers and men— for difference of 
rank does not prevent the sergeant, corporal and private 
from having the same thoughts as the colonel, captain and 
ensign — think, many of them for the last time, oi the dear 
old place at home, and the hearts that are beating for them, 
and the faces that are waiting to welcome them back. 

Belper could not put Blanche’s sweet face out of his mind, 
and the officers noticed that he walked about with his hand 
pressed close against his breast; but they did not know 
that it rested lovingly upon a small red rose that had been 
given him by the hand of a woman. 

An officer, who had been sent forward with the advanced 
parties, was seen galloping back to the intrenchments. 

“The enemy is marching upon us in columns. Their 
numbers are great, but they seem indifferently armed.” 

Belper looked at his watch. It was two hours to day- 
break. 

A few shots were heard, and it was known that the enemy 
were coming within range. 

“Return, if you please, sir, ” said Belper, “ and gradually 
draw in your men, that they may fall back firing when 
they see an opportunity.” To an aid-de-camp he said: 
“ Take this; and desire each of the commanding officers of 
the two flank regiments to send forward two machine- 
guns. ’ ’ 

Belper thought that the rapidity of the firing would make 
the enemy overestimate their force. The firing became 
general, and it was evident that the enemy were advancing 
rapidly, and that the advanced parties were retiring. Bel- 
per had given strict orders that his men were to fire low, 
and not to waste their ammunition. The firing became in- 
cessant. The Irish brigade, which led the attack, had al- 
ready advanced as far as the ground lately occupied by 
Lord Saxborough’s encampment, the green tunics worn by 


123 


OUR RADICALS. 


the men looking quite black in the gray light of the dawn. 
On arriving at the open space which separated them from 
the British troops, there was a moment of hesitation. It 
was not pleasant to run the gantlet over a rising piece of 
ground, three hundred yards in length, exposed to the fire 
of a concealed foe. The Fenian general, although he was 
aware that Lord Saxhorough was retreating, had no means 
of ascertaining the strength of the rearguard of the English 
army. General Stephen’s army numbered some thirty 
thousand men, but they were not well armed or disciplined, 
many of them carrying scythes in default of better weap- 
ons ; but their hearts were in their work, and whither they 
were led they would follow. 

Calling his officers together, Stephens ordered half of his 
force to attack the position on one fiank, while the re- 
mainder attacked it on the other, the objective points being 
the two eminences where Belper had placed his machine- 
guns. 

A rearguard was to attack the position from the front, 
but not until the side hioveinents had been accomplished, 
by which arrangement the general imagined that much of 
the firing would be drawn from that part of the intrench- 
ment. 

It was still dark, and, a sea-fog rising from the waves, 
facilitated General Stephens’ movements considerably, as 
he was enabled to advance under cover of the pervading 
gloom. Suddenly, to the general’s great discomfiture, a 
piercing light was thrown on the attacking forces. Belper 
had foreseen that in the darkness the fire of the English 
soldiers would not have the desired effect ; he had there- 
fore ordered the electric light to be turned on to its full 
power, thus lighting up- the whole sittiatiori. 

“ Curse the fellow!’* exclaimed General Stephens; “but 
it will not do to wait. ’ ’ 

He gave the word to attack, and from either side the 
rebel battalions rushed upon the intrenchment ; now throw- 
ing themselves on the ground, then rushing forward again 
a few yards, directing all the time an irregular fire upon 
the English soldiers. An English officer at once opened 
fire with the machine guns. 

“Stop!” cried Belper. “ Tell him to k^ep the machine- 
guns in reserve. ” 

The firing became incessant ; the heavy cloud of smoke 
that rose in the air greatly assisting the advance of the 
rebels. 

Already hundreds of slain covered the open space. Bel- 
per’ s men, confident in their steady fire, and with an im- 
mense supply of cartridges at their disposal, were congrat- 
ulating themselves upon having worked such havoc among 


OUR RADICALS. 


123 


the foe. Suddenly, a wild shout in front of the intrench- 
ment attracted their attention. It came from the Irish 
force, as they rushed to the attack in front of the intrench- 
ment. At the same moment General Stephens redoubled 
his efforts on the flank. 

“ Now for the machine-guns!” shouted Belper. 

The order was at once obeyed, and the yells and cries of 
the Irish filled the air as they were mowed down by the 
new weapons of destruction. The rear, unaware of the ter- 
rible destruction among the advanced battalions, pushed 
forward to the attack. 

“By Heaven!” exclaimed General Stephens, “they are 
advancing in columns. If the English can maintain their 
fire, we ai'e lost.” 

Three times had Stephens’ force rushed upon Belper’ s po- 
sition, and three times the rapid fire of the English troops 
had raised a barricade of dead bodies between themselves 
and their assailants. * 

“ I will make one last effort,” said the Irish leader; and, 
placing himself at the head of some battalions that had not 
yet suffered by the fire, he gallantly led them to the as- 
sault. 

“Ireland forever!” shouted the attacking force; and, 
with wild hurrahs, they darted across the broken ground. 
The carnage in their ranks was tremendous ; but still they 
pushed forward under the terrific fire, until a shot struck 
their leader full in the breast. He reeled in his saddle, 
waved his sword once toward the intrenchments, and fell 
senseless. A moment of hesitation was apparent among 
his followers, and Belper, seizing the opportunity, without 
considering that he had only three battalions, compared to 
the vast number of his foes, gave the order to charge the 
enemy. The English troops sprung from their intrench- 
ments with bayonets fixed and rushed upon the enemy. 
The effect was instantaneous; for the Irish, discouraged at 
the fall of their leader, and at the disastrous effect of the 
English fire, turned and fled, and Belper, after pursuing 
them for a short distance, and killing several thousands in 
the attack, returned to his original position. 

The day was over; the fight was won. Belper discov- 
ered, to his great satisfaction, that very few casualties had 
occurred among his forces. Elated with success, Belper sat 
down to make a statement of the battle, and to await a 
telegram from Lord Saxborough to say that the main body 
had reached the shores of England. 


124 


OUR RADICALS. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Maggie had reached Meltingboroiigh by this time, where 
she heard that Lord Cromer and Sir Richard Digby had 
left the castle, some days befoi-e, with a large army of 
volunteers. They numbered in all fifty thousand men, 
besides a few cavalry regiments and some artillery. Every - 
where Cromer’s army had been received with enthusiasm 
by the people, and he was looked upon as their deliverer 
from starvation and every other evil that had followed 
the action of the present government. It was well known 
that his movement was not aimed against the sovereign, 
but against the government, which refused to give up 
the reins of power in spite of the wishes of the electors. 

Maggie followed the army in a carriage, and in a few 
days she fell in with them. They were not forty miles 
from London, and they had met with no opposition. 

It was night when she arrived. The streets were all 
illuminated in honor of Lord Cromer and his army. The 
general and Sir Richard Digby were being entertained at 
dinner by the mayor of the town. 

Asking a bystander where she would, find the head- 
quarters of Lord Cromer, and finding that he had taken 
up his quarters at the Bell Hotel, she proceeded in that 
direction. On arriving, Maggie inquired of the proprietor 
if she could have a room. 

“ If I had twice as many rooms, they would all be occu - 
pied. I have had to refuse even Sir Richard Digby only a 
few hours ago; and he had just returned from making a 
reconnaissance, after being two days in the saddle:” 

” Where has Sir Richard gone to"?”J inquired Maggie. 

“To the Plough Inn — a humble but respectable little 
place, answered the proprietor of the hotel; “but he only 
sleeps there: he will have his meals here with Lord 
Cromer. ’ ’ 

“Thank you,” said Maggie. “ I will go to the Plough; 
perhaps they can accommodate me. ’ ’ 

She secured a room on the ground -floor, the window of 
which looked upon an extensive garden. 

“ The first and second floors are occupied, ” said the land- 
lord; “ but when the troops are gone I can give you better 
accommodation. ’ ’ 

Once left alone, Maggie threw herself down upon a sofa 
near the open window, and looked out into the garden. 

It was a lovely night. The air w^as warm, and a faint 
twitter from some wakeful bird was the only sound that 
broke the stillness. 

From a summer-house, only a few yards from the win- 


OUR RADICALS. 


125 


dow, came the sound of voices after awhile ; and a faint 
cloud of smoke would steal occasionally into the air from 
the cigars of the speakers. 

She listened attentively, but could not hear what was 
being said. A glass door opened from the room into the 
garden; and she could see by the moonlight a large oak- 
tree near the summer-house, and around the stem of this 
tree a rude seat had been constructed. 

Opening the door as quietly as possible, she walked to the 
seat unobserved, and listened again. This time she could 
hear the words that were spoken, and she started as she 
recognized the voices of Lord Cromer and Sir Richard 
Digby. They had been dining with the mayor, and the 
general, wishing to have some private conversation with 
his nephew, had accompanied him to his quarters. 

“You say that you rode within six miles of London?” 

“Yes; and I saw no outposts of any description; but I 
heard that Metrale was at his wits’ end trying to raise two 
cavalry regiments.” 

“ How did the people receive you?” 

“Very well; on all sides I was asked when you would 
arrive before London. There is a rumor that some horrible 
disaster has happened to the British army in Ireland, but no 
one seems to know exactly what has occurred. I was so 
close to London that I was sorely tempted to ride to Lady 
Tryington’s house at Wimbledon, and learn some informa- 
tion that might be useful. ’ ’ 

“ It is just as well you did not go,” observed the general. 
“ She is a great talker, and everybody in London would 
have heard of your visit in twelve hours.” 

“Arthur Belper has gone over to the enemy,” said Sir 
Richard Digby, regretfully. “I cannot understand it, for 
he hates Radicalism at heart. There is a rumor that he 
has gone to Ireland to command a brigade.” 

“ Loaves and fishes, perhaps!” said Lord Cromer, cynic- 
ally. 

“ He is rot a man of that sort,” answered Sir Richard: 
“ but I am glad he has gone to Ireland, as it will prevent 
us coming into collision.” 

“I wonder if he has taken that bastard with him!” 
ejaculated Lord Cromer. 

“ If that boy had perished, Dick,” he continued, after a 
pause, “ you would have been my heir.” 

“ It is a pity, uncle; but to give the young devil his due, 
he is not a bastard, but perfectly legitimate.” 

Maggie listened eagerly for every word that fell from 
their lips. They were evidently speaking of Eugene. 

She knew that the Fenians had stolen the child, in order 
that they might have a hold over Lord Cromer, and she 


126 


OUR RADICALS. 


now learned for the first time why the lad’s life had been 
spared. It was evident that, should they kill the boy, the 
conspirators would be rather advancing Lord Cromer’s in- 
terests than opposing them. 

“Could you see any likeness between him and any of 
the family?” said Lord Cromer. 

“ Only about the eyes,” was the answer. 

“I would to God he had never been born!” exclaimed 
the general. ‘ ‘ To think, Dick — to think that the child of 
a Parisian prostitute should inherit Cromer Castle ! But 
it is useless to regret ; and I must get back to my quart- 
ers.” 

“One moment,” said his nephew. “Do you think if 
Cumbermore withdraws the troops from Ireland that Sax- 
borough willl oppose us?” 

‘ ‘ Impossible to say, my dear Dick ; impossible to say. Lord 
Saxborough is a good general, but he will go for the main 
chance. We must take London before he arrives. I shall 
offer him the olive-branch; and if he takes it we can to- 
gether recover our lost positions, and lift England once more 
out of the mire of Eadicalism and dishonor. ” 

“ When do we march?” 

‘ ‘ To-morrow night. It will be cool for the troops, and 
we shall consequently cover more ground. Our next halt- 
ing-place will be Windsor. Good-night, my boy.” 

The general, accompanied by twm orderlies, who were 
waiting in the street, rode back to his quarters. 

Sir Eichard finished his cigar and then returned to the 
inn. Maggie remained unobserved beneath the shadows 
of the old oak. She carefully watched the windows of the 
building, and presently a light appeared in the room ad- 
jacent to her own. • » 

“How fortunate!” she exclaimed. “Now, if the Fates 
will help me this time ! Yet, must I commit another crime? 
Ah ! if these villains had not my own child in their power ! 
But I must not stay to think, but act.” 

Maggie rose from her seat and walked to her own room. 
Opening a chest of drawers, she drew out a packet of 
drugs. As she closed the drawer of the cabinet she ob- 
served that the piece of furniture half concealed the door 
which led to the next apartment. Eemoving the cabinet, 
she tried the handle softly, but found that the door was 
locked. Stooping down, she looked through the keyhole. 

Sir Eichard Digby had thrown himself into an arm- 
chair, and Maggie could see that he was looking affection- 
ately at a locket, and that his eyes were filling with tears. 
Presently he rose, and placed it beside his bed; and as he 
might be called at any moment during the night, he threw 


OUR RADICALS. 


127 


himself upon the couch to sleep without undressing. He 
blew out the candle and then settled himself to sleep. 

Maggie sat silently by the door, her ears ready to catch 
the slightest sound. Soon the deep breathing of Sir Rich- 
ard Avas heard, and Maggie knew that he was asleep. He 
had been thoroughly tired out by his long ride. 

In one corner of the room a small table had stood, which 
Sir Richard had moved to his bedside, and upon Avhich he 
had placed a water-bottle and a glass. An idea occurred 
to her that if she could only obtain access to the apartment 
and put the poisonous powder into the water her work 
would be done. The baronet would in all probability awake 
before the morning, and reaching out his hand for the bot- 
tle drink some of the contents. 

Waiting a little longer, she then opened the door of her 
room leading to the passage. Everybody had gone to bed, 
and not a sound was to be heard. Taking off her shoes, in 
order to make as little noise as possible, she walked along 
the passage and tried the handle of Sir Richard Digby’s 
door. It turned in her grasp, and she gave a slight push. 
Stealthily creeping into the room, she reached the bedside, 
and carefully poured the poison into the water-bottle. The 
only light in the room was cast by the rising moon through 
the uncurtained Avindow. She looked carefully at the 
handsome countenance of the sleeper, and tried in vain to 
recall the time when that face was well known to her. 
Her curiosity was aroused, and she took up the locket from 
the table and pressed the spring. 

She started back as her eyes fell upon the portrait, and 
clutched at the table to save herself from falling. The 
sudden movement awoke the sleeper. He rose instantly 
from the bed and snatched the locket from the intruder’s 
grasp. Something in the livid face of the Fenian woman 
arrested his attention, and he stood rooted to the spot. 

“ What are you here for?” he exclaimed. 

To his surprise the Avoman shoAved no sign of fear, and 
had completely recovered her self-possession. 

“ So you knoAv her?” she exclaimed, pointing to the por- 
trait. “ My own dear mistress!” 

‘‘ Your mistress, woman!” said Sir Richard. “ What lie 
is this?” 

“I am not telling a lie, said Maggie, quietly “If you 
will hear me, you will know that I speak the truth. If 
you have patience and wisdom you wiU hear it from the 
commencement. ’ ’ 

The half-commanding, half-supplicating tone in which 
Maggie said these words struck the baronet forcibly ; and 
in a kinder tone than he had yet spoken he said ; 

“Go on,” 


128 


OUR RADICALS. 


“ I am an Irishwoman,” she began. “ I was but sixteen 
when I fell in love with the chief of a secret society in 
Dublin. He returned my affection, and we were married. 
When we could strike a blow at England we did so; for I 
took up my husband’s cause, heart and soul. At last ho 
was taken prisoner in trying to rescue others from a sim- 
ilar fate. He was tried in England, sentenced to death, 
and hanged. I was mad with grief. The priest of our 
parish took pity on me and sent me to Spain, where I be- 
came an attendant in a convent. I went therewith my 
child, and we were treated kindly by the sisters in Seville. 
Gradually my health came round ; and in the quiet of the 
convent I sought for consolation in a religious life. One 
day a new nun arrived ; Sister Ursula she was called. The 
poor girl was ill, and I attended upon her. I learned from 
her that her suffering was mental as weU as bodily. She 
had married a Protestant against her father’s wish. He 
was a stern, relentless man, and would not admit her into 
his house or Tet her see her husband again — her heretic 
husband, as he called him. She was gradually dying of 
despair before my very eyes ; I Was with her but a month ; 
but every day our affection grew stronger, as we learned 
to sympathize with each other’s woes. Mutual sorrow 
made us sisters. One day she showed me a locket — the 
facsimile of the one you possess, only it contained not her 
own portrait, but yours. Now I know, for the first time, 
why your features are familiar to me. ’ ’ 

The baronet had sunk into a chair, and had covered his 
face with his hands. 

“What happened to iny darling? Oh, my darling! did 
she die?” 

“ I cannot say,” said Maggie, moved at the emotion dis- 
played by this strong man. “ She had been only a month 
in the convent, when one day a carriage came to the door, 
and her father removed her, it was said, to another con- 
vent. We heard afterward that she was dead.” 

‘ ‘ Dead ! ’ ’ groaned Sir Eichard. ‘ ‘ Great God ! ’ ’ 

“ That was the report. At the same time, another great 
grief fell upon me. My child was stolen from me. I had 
been affiliated to a secret society, and had been very useful 
to its members. They still required my services. They 
found out where I was, and managed to send a letter to 
me. ‘ Leave the convent, ’ it said, ‘ and join us in Dublin. ’ 

I paid no heed to this request ; and a few weeks afterward 
my child disappeared. He had been playing in the garden, 
and was stolen in a manner that is unknown to this day. 
On coming to my senses, I found another letter waiting for 
me. It was from the chief of the society, and he said that 
my child was in their possession, and that I must fulfil my 


OUR RADICALS. 


m 

compact or he would be killed. What could I do? I left 
the convent; and since that time I have had blindly to 
obey the orders of my chief to save my child’s life. 
Deeper and deeper I have waded in crime, till I can sink no 
lower.” 

Sir Richard was stupefied by the intelligence he had re- 
ceived. He felt faint, and, reaching out his hand for the 
water-bottle, was about to drink of its contents. To his 
surprise the woman dashed it to the ground before he could 
raise it to his lips. 

“Stop!” she cried; “it contains poison, and now the 
truth is out. I put it there to take your life, not knowing 
who you were. The face of that angel saved you. ’ ’ 

“I understand,” he said; “ you are still in their power; 
but why have they any spite against me?” 

“ They wish to strike at Lord Cromer, because he is op- 
posing their plans; and if he succeeds in taking London, all 
hope of Ireland’s independence is at an end.” 

“ And you are ordered to destroy him as well?” 

“Yes.” 

“What a horrible state of things!” exclaimed Sir 
Richard Digby. 

“ You will forgive me,” said Maggie, falling on her knees, 
“and pity me, for the sake of her we both loved.” 

“In Heaven’s name, rise,” said the baronet, “and you 
and your child shall yet be saved from harm. Come to 
me to-morrow, and take the post of nurse in the head- 
quarters of the ambulance corps. They will give it to you, 
and I can see you again. The members of the secret society 
will think you have obtained the situation to carry out 
their designs. Do not be afraid; nothing shall pass my 
lips; and before long we will punish these scoundrels as 
they deserve.” 

“And my boy?” 

“ Shall be saved.” 

Digby slept no more that night. After Maggie liad re- 
tired to her room he sat looking at the portrait of his dead 
lovd^ and she lived again in his memory and in his heart. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

The news of the terrible ’disaster to the Britsh troops in 
mid-tunnel had at last reached London. 

Never in the annals of English history had such a calam- 
ity occurred before. Out of twenty-eight thousand men 
more than two thirds had perished, and no one could un- 
derstand how the accident occurred. The railway manager, 
who might have given some explanation, was still insensi- 
ble. He had been found in his office, three hours after 


130 


OUR RADICALS. 


Sullivan had left the station, lying in a pool of blood. On 
examining the model it was found that no less than thirty of 
the miniature trains were touching each other, and it was 
clear that some dreadful collision had occurred. 

The first intimation Mr. Cumbermore received was on 
his return from Wimbledon, where he had been to a re- 
view of Metrale’s forces. He had been anxiously looking 
forward to receiving some intelligence from Ireland, and 
was in hopes that Lord Saxborough had by this time ar- 
rived at Holyhead. He thought that the general could at 
once attack Lord Cromer and disperse the rebels. Metrale, 
anticipating this, had left Wimbledon with the whole of 
his force, to advance toward Lord Cromer’s position so 
that should this oflicer face round to defend himself from 
Lord Saxborough’ s troops, he could at once fall upon Lord 
Cromer’s rear. The plan had been carefully arranged, and 
orders sent to Lord Saxborough at Holyhead. 

Metrale, however, was entirely ignorant of the terrible 
disaster that had occurred, and, moving forward his entire 
force, halted for the night at a place called Hounslow. 

London was thus practically unguarded. Mr. Cumber- 
more had, however, caused a great number of special con- 
stables to be sworn in ; and as the members of the Alcibiades 
Club were useless as soldiers, they were made to patrol the 
streets as policemen. Ricardius, who had been employed 
during the review, and who had no other duty to perform 
that day, called at the Hermitage to pay Lady Tryington 
a visit. 

“Dear Mr. Ricardius,” said Lady Tryington, after she 
had welcomed him, “what dreadful times we live in! 
Thei'e is my favorite nephew. Sir Richard Digby, positively 
serving on the side of the insurgents ; and his ^eat friend. 
Colonel Belper, fighting for the government in Ireland. 
You are the first person I have seen to-day; now do you 
bring any news ?” 

Ricardius was about to speak when Blanche entered the 
room, looking very pale and ill. Without noticing Ric.^d- 
ius, she went up to Lady Tryington and said : 

“A mounted orderly has just passed the gates, and he 
asked the lodge-keeper how he could best come up with Me- 
trale’s force. In return for this information he said that 
a terrible accident had occurred in the tunnel, that our 
army was destroyed, and that London was in a panic.” 

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Ricardius, “it cannot be 
true ; but if it is, I am better here. If you will allow me. 
Lady Tryington, I will take this house under my special 
protection.” 

“Thank you so much,” said Lady Tryington; “but we 


OUR RADICALS. 181 

are quite able to take care of ourselves. But do find out 
what has occurred, and let us know.” 

The task was not an agreeable one to Ricardius, but he 
could not refuse, and, rising from his chair, he left the 
room. 

London was in a very unsettled state. The minds of the 
unfortunate men who had been thrown out of work by the 
priiiciples of the government had been excited by revolu- 
tionary speeches to robbery and plunder. 

The Irish had taken advantage of these doctrines for 
some years past, and had possessed themselves of land that 
belonged legally to English people; and now the unem- 
ployed, taking advantage of the crisis, determined to com- 
mence a similar crusade, under the guidance of Mr. Bull- 
neck. The minds of the masses since the disestablishment 
of the English Church had become very unsettled, and 
since the upper classes had espoused the cause of the 
” Knownothing-for-certain” school, the lower classes con- 
sidered they had a right to belong to the “Share-and- 
share -alike ” society. Temples had been appropriated by 
these revolutionists for the purpose of holding meetings to 
discuss their proceedings ; and it was outside one of these 
buildings that Ricardius stopped his brougham, after leaving 
Lady Tryington’s house to discover the state of affairs. 
Entering the building, Ricardius managed with difficulty to 
find a seat. 

Mr. Bullneck was addressing the vast assembly. He 
spoke of the crisis, and of the advantages they would gain 
l)y it — how they could plunder the rich now there were 
none to protect them. 

‘ ‘ Spare no one !’ ’ shouted the Socialist. “We have hith- 
erto kept our candle under a bushel, but now we will set 
London on fire.” 

The audience yelled with delight ; and a moment after- 
ward Ricardius was pushed against the wall by the crowds 
of frantic men, who rushed into the streets to carry out the 
doctrines they had been taught. 

R was with a heavy heart, and forebodings of evil, that 
Ricardius returned to the Hermitage. 

The news had by this time reached every part of London 
that a great disaster had occurred in the Channel Tunnel. 
Men stood anxiously at their doors, buying the papers that 
professed to give a full and detailed account of the destruc- 
tion of the British army. 

Ricardius bought one of these papers; and, on arriving at 
the Hermitage, at once hastened to Lady Tryington, who 
with her two nieces were anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

“ Is it true?” exclaimed Lady Tryington. 

‘ ‘ Alas ! quite true, ’ ’ said Ricardius. ‘ ‘ Read here. ’ ’ 


m OtlJR nADlCAm 

And he presented the paper to Lady Tryington, read who 
as follows : 

“ ‘ A terrible disaster has occurred. At a cabinet council, 
held a few days ago, it was resolved to abandon Ireland to 
the Irish, and withdraw our troops. Colonel Belper, of the 
21st Dragoon Guards, was sent with orders to Lord Sax- 
borough to retire immediately. The arrangements were 
completed for the return of the troops, and Colonel Belper 
was left to command the rear- guard, and defend the mouth 
of the Irish Tunnel until Lord Saxborough’s forces had 
reached the English coast. This daring young officer be- 
haved most gallantly. His intrenchments were attacked 
by General Stephens, who commanded an overwhelming 
force, but Colonel Belper repulsed them with great loss to 
the enemy. The trains, meanwhile, which were carrying 
the troops to England, collided with those on the way to 
the Irish coast, to bring back the rear-guard. Yesterday 
evening the superintendent who had charge of the line 
was found in his office, lying in a pool of blood. There is 
very little doubt that more than half the English troops 
have perished in this terrible catastrophe. To add to the 
horror of the scene, the electric light was found to have 
been turned off. Suspicion points to the Fenians, but no 
arrests have been made at present. A cabinet council is to 
be held this evening. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Lord Cromer has reached Windsor, and to-morrow will 
see the engagement between his followers and Colonel Me- 
trale’s forces. Should the volunteers win the day we shall 
witness a coup d'etat, as Lord Cromer has determined to 
force the government from office. 

‘“Consols, 27.’ ” 

“ Thank Heaven, he is safe !” murmured Blanche; who 
had listened with a painful suspense while her aunt had 
been reading the paragraph. 

“Colonel Belper has behaved nobly,” said Lady Trying- 
ton. 

“Yes,” said Ricardius; “a splendid resistance. Just such 
a one as I should have made.” 

In spite of her anxiety, Blanche could not resist a 
laugh. 

Laura, who had been watching her cousin, and under- 
stood the pause of her distress, cruelly remarked that she 
did not see how the rear-guard of Lord Saxborough’s 
army could ever reach England. 

“ Fortunately, we have friends on both sides.” said Lady 
Tryington, “Dick is with Lord Cromer, and Colonel Bel- 
per stands high in the favor of the government.” 

“It never does to be too certain about anything,” said 


OUR RADICALS. 


133 


Ricardiiis ; “but I think Lord Cromer will take London 
to-morrow. And, if it is to be done, the sooner the better, 
for Bullneck is inciting the populace to plunder. I suppose 
he looks upon Cumbermore as a sinking vessel, and means 
to desert him as quickly as possible. 

Eicardius took his leave of the ladies shortly afterward, 
and drove to his club. There he read upon the tapes that 
Lord Saxborough had arrived at Holyhead, and had stated 
his loss to be very great; that a raid had been made by the 
“Share-and-s bare- alike ” society upon many public build- 
ings and private houses ; and that there was a rumor to the 
effect that the ministry would resign. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

The morning of the 9th of July broke clear and bright; 
the sun shone down on the long lines of tents pitched in 
the open fields to the west of Hounslow. Lord Cromer 
had determined not to divide his force, but to move with 
all his men on London, and this was the last halting- 
place. 

In the distance hundreds of carts could be seen bring- 
ing supplies for the troops. Some soldiers were guard- 
ing several hundreds of cattle and sheep that had been 
driven from farms near High Wycombe. The farmers in 
that neighborhood, who were friends of the Radical party, 
had resisted at first ; but, as they found they could get a 
fair price for their beasts, they let them go. As long as 
they made some profit on their cattle, what did it matter 
to them whether Lord Cromer succeeded in reaching 
London or not? 

Lord Cromer had been up all night with his nephew, con- 
sidering the situation. It was known to them that Lord 
Saxborough’s army had been destroyed in the Channel 
Tunnel, and that all the opposition they could expect to 
meet would be from Colonel Metrale and his forces. Again, 
it was certain that the metropolitan volunteers would wel- 
come their comrades-in-arms. Lord Cromer was aware 
that Metrale had passed the night in Hounslow, and that 
his forces had been billeted in that town. Reconnoitering 
parties on both sides had come into contact a little before 
daybreak, and a few shots had been fired. About 7 a. m. 
Sir Richard Rigby was informed by bis scouts that the 
whole of the opposing force had left Hounslow, and was 
marching forward for the attack. 

“ So much the better,” said Lord Cromer, on hearing the 
information; “ I should have been obliged to have stormed 
Hounslow, and the destruction of life and property would 
have been great, if they had not left the place. The affair 


OUR RADICALS. 


UA 

will not last long. Throw out a line of skirmishers, and 
deploy five regiments across the road into the fields on 
either side. ’ ’ 

It was a splendid sight to witness. 

The five strong battalions that formed Lord Cromer’s 
first line advanced to their positions to await the enemy. 

Lord Cromer was looking through his field-glass, as his 
attention had been attracted in one direction b^y a sudden 
fiash of light, like the refiection of the sun on something 
bright. 

This was a troop of horse artillery, and they had taken 
up their position on a piece of rising ground about a mile 
and a half distant. The gunners were bringing their weap- 
ons into position. The officer in command of the artillery 
had hoped to reach the height in time to open fire upon the 
volunteers before they deployed into line. He was an old 
officer, but he had had very little experience in the new 
system of maneuvering artillery, and was under the im- 
pression that, as in his own day, gunners could go wherever 
the cavalry went, and that, as far as pace was concerned, 
the artillery would often have the best of it. However, 
he found himself almost in a trap, for the number of min- 
utes he allowed himself to reach the rising ground and open 
fire on the volunteers had flitted by long before his guns 
had arrived at the place. But they were now ready for 
action, although time had been lost, and in another mo- 
ment the flash of fire was followed by a dark cloud of 
smoke. The shells could be heard approaching, and the 
men, who had never been under fire before, felt a sinking 
sensation. But the distance was great, and the firing in- 
different, and the shells burst in a field some three hundred 
yards from the place where Lord Cromer was standing. 

‘ ‘ Send a few picked riflemen forward to fire steadily 
on the gunners,’" said Lord Cromer to Sir Richard Digby, 
who was standing by his side. “ They are very exposed, 
and at fifteen hundred yards our men ought to do their 
work. But, see, some more batteries are on their way to 
aid the enemy ; by their appearance, I should say they are 
not regular artillerymen, but enlisted for the occasion, and 
if they have no skilled gunners with them they will do very 
little harm.” 

At that moment a shell burst at about one hundred yards 
from where the general stood. 

“ He has nearly got the range,” said Lord Cromer, ” and 
the next shell will probably do some damage. Take two 
regiments of cavalry, Dick, and make a feint, as if you were 
trying to get round Metrale’s men on the right flank, and 
send another officer, with two more regiments, to make a 
similar movement on the left flank, ’ ’ 


135 


OUR RADICALS. 

The volunteers received the artillery fire with more cool- 
ness than Lord Cromer had imagined. So far but little 
damage had been done by the shells, only four men having 
been slightly wounded by some fragments. The picked 
marksmen, who, at twelve hundred yards range, were fir- 
ing upon the gunners, had brought down their men admi- 
rably, and the captain of the artillery, who was short of 
capable gunners, began to lose his head. Metrale, who 
was endeavoring to keep his men to their work, was shot 
through the right arm, and a few minutes afterward was 
struck in the chest by another bullet. He would have 
fallen from his horse but for Eugene, who supported him 
until a surgeon arrived, who had him lifted from his horse 
very carefully and placed upon the ground. The surgeon 
took a handkerchief from his pocket, and placed it over 
Metrale’s face; then, turning to the bearers of the body, he 
said: 

“ Let no one see him; he is dead.” 

They endeavored to conceal the loss of their leader, but 
it was useless. The report spread with alarming rapidity, 
and a feeling of discouragement was at once apparent. 
But still they held to their position, though their heart was 
not in their work, and though their countrymen dropped 
one by one under the destructive fire of Lord Cromer’s 
rifles. 

Suddenly a voice was heard to exclaim, “ The enemy is 
behind us !’ ’ No one ever knew who uttered that cry ; but 
it produced a panic, and, throwing down their arms, they 
fled in every direction. They had seen Digby’s movement 
upon their right and left flank, and were convinced that 
unless they instantly fled, their line of retreat would be cut 
off. 

Eugene knelt over the body of his fallen leader and friend, 
for since Belper had been in Ireland the lad had been in- 
variably at Metrale’s side. 

Lord Cromer with his men were fast advancing, but one of 
the skirmishers, who was suffering from a wound, and who' 
arrived first upon the scene, kicked the body of Metrale as 
it lay upon the ground. Maddened with rage at the cow- 
ardly act, Eugene rushed back a few yards, and, picking 
up a rifle, discharged it at the man. The bullet missed its 
aim, but a dull thud announced that it had found a billet 
close at hand. In an instant twenty rifles were leveled at 
the lad, who, throwing down his weapon, stood erect and 
undaunted. Had it not been for Sir Richard Digby, who 
immediately recognized the boy, and commanded the sol- 
diers not to fire, Eugene would in a moment have been 
killed. A cry arose for his immediate execution. “He 
has shot the general !’ ’ 


OVR UADICALS. 


VM\ 

“Shot the general!” exclaimed Sir Eichard Digby, and, 
giving the noy into the chai’ge of another officer, he gal- 
loped back to Lord Cromer, who was in the arms of a sur- 
geon. 

“ Is it serious?” said Bigby, hastily. 

“Fortunately, not very; but his lordship must be kept 
very quiet. I am afraid of fever. ” 

After a time Lord Cromer recovered consciousness, and 
insisted upon having Eugene brought to him. 

The accusation brought against him was that he had been 
lying down, and feigning to be dead, at the time the skir- 
mishers arrived. 

“ Let him be shot!” cried the soldiers. 

“ No; let him have a fair trial,” said Lord Cromer to his 
officers. 

There was now nothing to prevent Lord Cromer entering 
London. 

He had given Sir Eichard Digby plenary power to act in 
his stead. It was the moment when a firm hand was re^ 
quired at the head of affairs. Judging from the reports in 
the papers, London was in the hands of a mob, who, in- 
cited to rebellion by Socialistic leaders, were plundering 
. GVQvj place that was worth the sacking. 

The prime minister’s house had even been robbed, and it 
was reported that Windsor Castle had been spoken of as 
their next place of pillage. Fires had broken out in several 
places in the metropolis, and in several instances the in- 
surgents had prevented the firemen from extinguishing the 
fiames. 

It was said that the minister^ had officially resigned, but 
of this report there was no certainty. 

Sir Eichard Digby determined to march ten thousand 
men to Wimbledon the following morning, and then enter 
London with an escort of two yeomanry squadrons, and 
ascertain if a government existed. 

If Mr. Cumbermore could not be found, the baronet in- 
tended to proclaim martial law in the metropolis, and 
placing his services at the disposal of the sovereign, to 
await the monarch’s commands. Finally, he ordered a 
court martial to assemble within twenty -four hours to try 
Eugene. 


CHAPTEE XXXVI. 

It was the eve of the battle of Hounslow. Council 
after council had been held by the cabinet. The members 
of the government had learned the news of the disaster to 
Lord Saxborough’s forces. Everywhere they heard them- 
selves denounced. Mr. Cumbermore could no longer meet 


OUR RADICALS, 


187 


his colleagues in Downing Street with safety. It was 
necessary to find some spot where they could assemble in 
secret. Sir Charles Able, who was as unpopular as his 
colleagues, placed a house belonging to his brother at the 
minister’s disposal. Here they were assembled on the 
night before the battle in which Metrale was slain, and his 
forces defeated. 

“It is our last chance,” Mr. Cumbermore said to his 
friends. ‘ ‘ If Metrale is beaten to-morrow, we must escape 
as fast as possible, and throw up the sponge.” 

“We ought to have done so long ago,” said Sir Poplar 
Burlyman. And the other members of the cabinet spoke 
in the same vein. 

The prime minister felt this acutely ; it was true that he 
had been the most resolute of them all against a dissolution ; 
but had they not all supported him? It was base ingratitude 
to throw all the onus upon him, especially when retribu- 
tion was treading upon their heels. He felt much as his 
namesake the prophet had done thousands of years be- 
fore, when in the arms of the sailors and about to be cast 
into the sea. 

“ It is no use talking of the past,” said Mr. Cumbermore; 
“let bygones be bygones. The question we have to con- 
sider is, whether we shall now resign or await the 
issue of to-morrow’s battle. If Metrale wins the day, this 
volunteer movement will collapse like a pack of cards. 
We shall have to hang Cromer and one or two of the leaders. 
Then, with Saxborough’s remaining forces, we could easily 
establish order in England and Scotland ; for that is all that 
remains of the British Empire.” 

“ It is a terrible thing to shed blood,” said Mr. Butter- 
tongue, with his hands clasped together. 

“It is better than having our own shed,” said the war 
minister. 

“Oh, yes! oh, yes! that’s true,” replied Mr. Butter- 
tongue. 

“ London will require a scapegoat if Metrale is defeated, 
and I have no wish to distinguish myself as that animal,” 
said the prime minister. 

“I really don’t know what would happen,” said the 
timid Lord O’ Hagan Harton. “ I think we had better run 
away. Up to now we have considered our party, and it is 
time to consider ourselves. ” 

“ I see by the papers,” said Sir Poplar Burlyman, “that 
the populace burned each of us in effigy last night. ’ ’ 

As the minister was speaking, the tramp of many feet 
was heard, and the sound of many voices. 

The ministers listened. 


13S 


OUR RADICALS. 


‘ ‘ They have found us out. They will kill us !” exclaimed 
Lord O’ Hagan Harton. 

“ Come with me,” said Sir Charles Able, as the noise be- 
came greater. ‘ ‘ I can take you to the roof ; it overlooks 
the street, and we can see what is going on without being 
observed.” 

The ministers followed Sir Charles Able out of the room, 
and up the stairs on to the roof of the building. 

An immense crowd had halted before the house. In the 
foreground could be seen Mr. Bullneck, accompanied by 
Wild Thyne. 

“Why, confound it!” said Sir Charles Able, “there is 
Wild Thyne at the head of the rabble I It is really too bad 
of him, for he dined with me last week.” 

“ They are ringing the bell,” said Lord O’Hagan Harton, 
trembling violently. - 

No one opened the door; and the crowd, becoming im- 
patient, burst in the portals. Some of the more active 
men tried to climb the high rails that surrounded the 
garden. 

“We ought to go away at once,” said Lord O'Hagan 
Harton. “ If they were to capture us, our lives would be 
the forfeit.” 

“Come this way,” said Sir Charles Able, fully alive to 
the danger of the situation. 

Leading the way down a narrow passage at the back of 
the house, he showed the ministers a small postern gate at 
the side of the garden. 

“ That leads into the street,’! said Sir Charles, in a whis- 
per. “ Lose no time in escaping.” 

“Are you not going yourself?” said Mr. Cumbermore. 
“ Are you going to remain here?” 

“Eemain here?” answered Sir Charles Able — “ of course. 
,I am not afraid of the mob” 

And if Metrale is beaten?” said Lord O’Hagan Harton, 
inquiringly. 

“ Then I shall goto France. I have my yacht ready, 
and if you like I will take you all with me.” 

The offer was too good to be refused; and, having ascer- 
tained the exact place where the vessel was anchored, the 
ministers shook hands with Sir Charles Able and fled. 

When Sir Charles reached the front of the house an ex- 
cited mob had filled the little garden. 

‘ ‘ Share and share alike !” cried the foremost. 

“ Down with Cumbermore!” cried those behind. 

Sir Charles was equal to the occasion. Taking a cigar- 
ette-case from his pocket he lit a cigarette, and then 
handed the case to Mr, Bullneck. 


OUR RADICALS. 


139 


The crowd were delighted at the coolness of the young 
statesman, and cheered him vociferously. 

Wild Thyne approached, and shook hands with his 
friend. 

“ Say a few words to them,” said Wild Thyne; “ it will 
^ have a soothing effect.” 

“He is going to speak,” said a voice in the crowd, as 
Sir Charles stood at the top of the stone steps, and raised 
his hand to insure silence. 

“ My friends,” said Sir Charles Able, “you are for shar- 
ing alike. This house, however, does not belong to me, 
but to my brother, and he is one of the greatest commu- 
nists in London.” 

“Three cheers for Sir Charles’ brother!” shouted Wild 
Thyne. 

The mob responded to the appeal with three lusty shouts ; 
and finding that their intended victims had escaped, Mr. 
]Bullneck and his followers quietly left the garden. 

CHAPTER XXXVH. 

Belper had been waiting some time for a telegram from 
Lord Saxborough to announce the arrival of his army in 
England. Twelve hours had elapsed since his lordship’s 
departure. Arthur’s men had eaten their morning ration, 
and there was nothing left for them in the commissariat. 
They had fought hard, and were hungry and thirsty. 
Under the most favorable circumstances a long time 
would elapse before his soldiers could obtain another 
meal. 

Meantime General Stephens had returned to his original 
position. The blockade was as strict as ever, and the 
young officer determined to reconnoiter the ground in per- 
son. Riding as close as he could to the enemy, he dis- 
covered, by the aid of his glass, that one part of Stephen’s 
camp was apparently unprotected. It had belonged to 
that division of the Irish force which had suffered so ter- 
ribly in the battle. Arthur further ascertained that be- 
hind this part many head of cattle were grazing in the 
fields. 

It would not be difficult, he thought, to carry off some 
oxen in a night attack ; and it would also have another 
good result, as it would make the enemy less suspicious 
as to any attempt on his part to retire. The enemy would 
be rather inclined to think that the English had received 
reinforcements. 

Returning to his camp, Belper found that no telegram 
had arrived from Lord Saxborough. Leaving orders for 
two battalions to remain in their position, he advanced 


140 


OUR RADICALS, 


the third. Then taking all the horsemen he could mus- 
ter, he led them to the unprotected part of the camp. In 
a few minutes they had arrived at the cattle-pens, and 
were pulling down the rails. The mounted men drove the 
beasts as silently as possible toward the English lines. 

The heavy tread of the cattle disturbed a sentry, who 
challenged, and, receiving no answer, discharged his rifle. 

Helper’s horsemen redoubled their pace. It was moon- 
light, and the Fenians could be seen turning out of their 
tents and facing up in line of battle. 

The officer commanding the advanced battalion, who had 
extended his men in skirmishing order, waited till Hel- 
per’s horsemen had driven the spoil through his line, and 
then gave the order to fire. The enemy, thinking this 
was the commencement of a general attack, made every 
preparation to resist it. Meantime the cattle had been 
driven into the intrenchments, and the advanced battalion 
were retiring. 

Thus Colonel Helper, by a daring act, saved his men 
from comparative starvation, for it was not till the follow- 
ing evening that the trains arrived to convey the rear- 
guard back to England. 

Helper then heard of the terrible disaster that had hap- 
pened in mid-tunnel for the first time. He commenced 
his retreat without loss of time, for by the aid of his 
glass he could see that the Fenians were strengthening 
their position. Helper, worn out with his exertions, lay 
down to rest for a few hours, while the preparations were 
being made for the soldiers’ return. 

At midnight he rose, and ordered some dummy figures, 
with rifles, to be placed in the position his advanced guard 
generally occupied, to deceive the enemy. 

The Irish general did not discover the retreat of the 
Hritish forces till too late; and within a very short time 
after leaving the Irish coast the rear-guard of Lord Sax- 
borough’s army reached England. At Holyhead Helper 
heard of the defeat of Metrale’s forces, and a messenger 
was awaiting him with a letter from Lord Saxborough, 
desiring Helper to join him at Chester. 

“Leave two battalions to help to defend the English end 
of the tunnel, and join me here with the remaining battal- 
ion,” were the instructions contained in the dispatch. » 

And, carrying out the general’s orders, Colonel Helper 
proceeded to Chester. 


CHAPTER XXXVHI. 

Preparations were being made in Lord Cromer’s camp 
for a court-martial, Eugene had been informed that he 


OUR RADICALS. Ul 

was about to be tried for his life. The charge had been 
read to him, and it ran as follows: 

“On the 13th of June, 189 — , and during the battle of 
Hounslow, he, the prisoner, known only by the name of 
Eugene, when lying on the ground and pretending to be 
wounded, did discharge a rifle with intent to kill a volun- 
teer, and by the act severely wounded Lord Cromer.” 

The court had been ordered to sit in a large tent belong- 
ing to the staff at headquarters. 

Punctually at eleven a. m. the prisoner was brought before 
the court. He was deadly pale, and suffering from the 
rough trea tment he had received at the hands of his guard ; 
but, bracing himself up for the ordeal, he appeared before 
the officers, calm and self-possessed. 

The prosecutor stated his case fairly and impartiall 3 ^ as 
he believed. There was no defense; and after a short de- 
liberation on the part of the court, Eugene was led away, 
having been informed that he would not know the sen- 
tence of the court until it had been confirmed by Lord 
Cromer and Sir Richard Digby. 

Maggie had heard of the prisoner. It occurred to her 
that Eugene must be the boy Belper had saved from drown- 
ing. Sir Richard Digby had given orders that Maggie 
was to be admitted to any part of the camp. By this 
means Maggie obtained access to the prisoner. Eugene 
thanked her for her kindness in coming to see him in his 
distress. 

“If Colonel Belper were here he would be able to save 
me; and if you could communicate with him, you would 
be doing me a great service.” 

“I will try to do so,” said Maggie, to this appeal; “ but 
are there no other people interested in your welfare?” 

“ No, I have no other friends now,” said Eugene: “ I had 
some in France, where I was educated, who would be 
sorry to hear of my fate.” 

“You mean at school?” said Maggie. 

“Yes,” answered Eugene. And he told her the name 
of the place. 

Maggie knew of the establishment, and had often tried 
to discover for herself where it was, but had failed to do 
so. A suspicion had sometimes crossed her mind that her 
own boy had been placed there, as it was known to the 
Fenians. 

“Was there a boy in the school called Maurice while 
you were there?” inquired Maggie. 

Eugene thought for a moment, and then said there had 
been a boy of that name— a dark-haired boy, with one 
shoulder higher than the other, which had been occasioned 


143 ovn hadicals. 

by a fall from a ladder while plaving in a garden in 
Seville. 

“ Yes! yes!” said Maggie; “ it must have been my own 
child.” 

“Your child?” said Eugene, astonished. 

“Yes. Tell me,” continued Maggie — “he was well 
when you left?” 

A shade of compassion stole over Eugene’s handsome 
face. 

“I must tell you the truth,” he said, kindly, “sad 
though it is. Poor Maurice died of bronchitis while I was 
at the school.” 

A low moan broke from Maggie’s lips, and she covered 
her face with her hands. She sobbed for some minutes, 
and Eugene offered her the sympathy he could so well 
bestow, and told her as much as he knew of her child’s 
illness and death. 

A knock was heard at the door shortly afterward, and 
an oflScer entered. Maggie left the cell, crying bitterly. 
The sergeant, thinking her sorrow was chiefly for the 
young prisoner, tried to comfort her. 

“ It will not be to-morrow,” he said. 

“What will not be to-morrow?” she inquired. 

“The execution. He has been sentenced to death, and 
will be shot in a week’s time.” 

Maggie wandered about the camp, mourning the loss of 
her child. Only the other day Barry had told her that if 
she would accomplish the last task confided to her the 
child should be restored. 

To save that child’s life she had sinned, at his direction; 
and all the time the child had been dead, and the Fenian 
had doubtless known it. 

She had been faithful to a traitor: but now she deter- 
mined to be revenged, for this cruel perfidy, on the nian 
who had robbed her of her son, and cheated her into com- 
mitting so many crimes. But first of all she was deter- 
mined to save Eugene, if it could be done. 

She set to work to find Belper’s address, and from a 
Court Guide she found he resided at 517 Piccadilly. 

Traveling at once to London, she found the house, but 
was informed that Colonel Belper was not at home ; but 
that he had telegraphed to the effect that he would return 
the next evening. 

Leaving the house, she wandered about Piccadilly, and 
considered what course to pursue. Then, walking to the 
Strand, she stopped opposite to a house in which tiie Feni- 
ans occasionally held their meetings. She determined to 
enter and learn what she could of the future plans of the 
conspiratox's. 


OUR RADICALS. 


14B 


An old woman answered her summons, and, on recog- 
nizing Maggie, allowed her to enter. 

“The master is expected here presently,” said the old 
woman. 

“ I will wait for him,” said Maggie; and, ascending the 
stairs, she entered the room where the Fenians held their 
meetings. 

Maggie sat down in a chair and waited. Suddenly it 
occurred to her that above the room in which she sat 
Barry slept, and, it was believed, kept his papers in a tin 
box. 

She walked stealthily up-stairs, but found the door 
locked. Returning to the room below, she found a coat 
hanging against the door, and in the pockets she discov- 
ered some letters and a bunch of keys. 

She again ascended the stairs, and tried the keys in the 
lock of the door. 

At last she found one that fitted, and, turning it, she 
opened the door. 

There were several boxes in the room, and she lost no 
time in trying the keys again. Her efforts were rewarded. 
She found in one box a number of letters written in the 
French and German languages. Presently her eye fell 
upon the name of Eugene, and above it was written, “ Ex- 
penses for maintenance.” A few lines below this was 
written the name Maurice, and then came some writing in 
cipher. Without a key to the manuscript her task would 
have been useless, so she continued to search among tiie 
papers, and at last found what she believed to be the nec- 
essary document. 

At this moment she recognized the voice of the old 
woman in conversation with some person in the passage 
below. 

Hastily arranging the boxes, she placed the papers she 
had found in her pocket, and descended to the other 
room. 

“ Some of our people have left word that Barry will not 
be back till night,” said the old woman, entering the 
room. 

“ You need not say I have been here,” said Maggie, slip- 
ping a coin into the woman’s hand. 

Leaving the house, she hired a small room at a hotel in 
the neighborhood, and, having locked the door of her 
apartment, sat down to read the papers. Her heart beat 
violently as she read the name of her child The date be- 
side it corresponded with the day, the month, and the 
year in which her boy had been stolen. As she read the 
document word by word, she found that the Fenians had 
stolen her child to induce her to give her services to the 


144 


OVR RADICALS. 


society. There was a list of the expenses paid for the boy’s 
maintenance, and at a certain date this payment ceased. 
The date corresponded with the death of her child, as 
Eugene had narrated. 

Next, turning to Eugene's name, she saw that his ex- 
penses had been paid by the Fenians as well; and finally 
she read that he was to be used as a means of inducing 
Lord Cromer to side with the Irish. 

Erremont, the name of the school, was mentioned, and 
the name of the town near to which it stood. 

“ I must go there without delay,” thought Maggie; “ if 
I can bring the superior back, she will identify Eugene, 
and with these papers I shall be able to prove that he is 
Lord Cromer s nephew, and by that means save his life.” 

After writing a letter to Helper, telling him what had 
occurred to hm protege, and begging him to take steps to 
procure his pardon, Maggie went to the Victoria Station, 
and in less than twenty -eight hours she was driving in a 
fiacre along the road that led to Erremont. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Belper did not wait long at Chester. After reporting 
himself to Lord Saxborough, and receiving his hearty con- 
gratulations on the gallant action he had fought when de- 
fending the tunnel, he obtained a month’s leave of absence, 
and returned to London. 

“You will find everything in great confusion there,” 
said Lord Saxborough. “I should advise you to stay 
here.” 

But Arthur would listen to no persuasion, and in a few 
hours found himself in London. Having changed his at- 
tire, he took horses and drove to the Hermitage. He 
found the young ladies in the garden, and as Arthur en- 
tered the gates they both hastened toward him. 

“ We are so glad to see you!” said Blanche. 

“We welcome a hero!” said Laura. “I suppose you 
know how things are going on over here. Dick is all- 
powerful now, and has proclaimed martial law. The 
streets at night are cleared at nine o’clock for the present. 
The season has been quite spoiled ; there are no balls or 
dinners, and everybody has gone out of town.” 

Arthur paid little heed to this long speech of Laura’s ; 
he was looking into the beautiful face of the woman he 
loved. Their eyes had met, and Blanche’s had fallen be- 
fore the tender gaze of the young ofiicer. 

“The papers say you will be made a general,” said 
Laura, anxious to attract Helper’s attention. 

“ Do not believe all the papers say,” was Arthur’s reply. 


OUR RADICALS. 145 

Laura went to announce Arthur's arrival to her aunt, 
and Blanche was alone with him. 

She spoke to him of Eugene. 

“Eugene under sentence of death !'’ exclaimed Belper; 
“ I have heard nothing of this.” He had not opened Mag- 
gie’s letter in his haste to leave London for the Hermitage. 
“ I must go at once and see Dick about it.” 

“Do you think our influence would be of any avail?” 
said Blanche. “We are so sorry for the boy: and is he to 
die?” 

“ I fear there must be some mistake,” said Arthur. “ It 
is very possible he may not have understood the charge, as 
he speaks very little English. He is a brave lad, and I am 
sure would not have acted as you say, unless under some 
strong provocation.” 

A servant brought a letter for Miss Tryington at tliis 
moment, and she opened it. 

“ It is from Dick,” she said ; “ he is coming here as soon 
as he can get away from his business to dine with us. I 
must go in and answer the note; and may I mention Eu- 
gene in it?” 

It was the first time she had ever asked his permission to 
do anything; and he took her hand gently between his 
own as he replied to her. 

“ I have kept the rose,” he said, softly : “it has brought 
me back to you.” 

Blanche’s face flushed crimson, but she made no an- 
swer. 

“ Are you glad I have come back?” he said. 

“Ver 3 ", very glad! But now I must answer this let- 
ter. ’' 

“Not for a moment,” he said, detaining her. “ Blanche, 
you have twice given me what I asked you for. Each 
time it has been a I'ose. Should you refuse me if I asked 
for a more precious gift?” 

“ What have I, that I can give to you?” 

“Yourself!” he answered, passionately; “your own 
self! Blanche, you know I love you dearer than life! 
dearer than ambition! Tell me— oh, tell me, I may sail 
love on.” 

She was very pale as she heard him declare his passion, 
and would have fallen to the ground had he not caught 
her in his arms. She turned her eyes to his face, suffused 
as they were with happy tears, and allowing her head 
to fall gently upon his shoulder, she whispered one word 
of consent. 

“ Arthur!” 

“My darling!” 

He knew that he was loved, though the words were un • 


146 


OUR RADICALS, 


spoken, and he sealed the vow with one long and passion- 
ate kiss. 

“Before you reveal our secret,” said Blanche, as they 
were returning to the house, “you must hasten to Dick, 
and intercede for Eugene's life.” 

The breakfast -bell was ringing as they entered the 
house, and before the meal was over Lady Tryington’s 
keen eye had detected that something unusual had oc- 
curred. 

“You will see us again soon,” said Lady Tryington, as 
Arthur was about to depart. “This afternoon, I hope. 
Dick is dining with us on Wednesday, and you must give 
us that evening.” 

“ With pleasure,” said Arthur; “but I will return to 
you as soon as I have seen Dick, and have prevailed on 
him to spare Eugene’s life.” 


CHAPTER XL. 

It was a busy afternoon in Pall Mall. For the last two 
days there had been an absence of crime and outrage in 
the metropolis, and a general sense of comfort and satis- 
faction prevailed such as had been unknown during the 
four previous weeks. 

Martial law had been proclaimed. All delinquents had 
been brought before courts presided over by Lord Cromer’s 
officers. One man had been hanged for arson, and several 
thieves severely flogged for violently robbing people in the 
streets. In each case the punishment had followed the 
sentence within the space Of six hours. 

This method of securing order had created a panic 
among evildoers, and had successfully suppressed the riot- 
ing and plunder. The police had — most of them— returned 
to the metropolis, and were being reorganized, so that 
fliey might recommence their accustomed duties; the sov- 
ereign had issued a notice that Parliament was dissolved, 
and in all parts of the country preparations were being 
made for a general election. 

In the meantime Lord Cromer had been appointed com- 
mander-in-chief, with full power to maintain order 
throughout the kingdom by the exercise of martial law. 
The lobbies of the War OfiSce were cro wiled with people, 
who all had something to ask of the temporary dictator; 
and in the absence of his uncle, who was still confined to 
his bed. Sir Richard found himself besieged by applicants 
for appointments. 

These gentlemen believed that Lord Cromer would be the 
new prime minister, and had determined to take time by 
the forelock. 


OUR RADICALS. 


147 


To these applicants Sir Richard Digby had turned a deaf 
ear. He announced that all sinecure appointments were 
to be abolished, and the gentlemen were obliged to return 
to their iiomes in a very indignant frame of mind. 

Sir Richard had one day dispersed all these office-seek- 
ers, and was about to congratulate himself on being able 
to find- a few minutes to rest himself, when his aid-de- 
camp entered the room with some papers that required his 
signature. 

“There is one important document here,” said the aide- 
de-camp. “ It is the court-martial on Eugene.” 

Sir Richard dropped his pen. Disagreeable as had been 
his other work that afternoon, this was the most painful 
that as yet he had had to perform. He carefully read 
through the proceedings of the court-martial, and he saw 
that the evidence for the prosecution had not been in any 
way shaken by the prisoner; indeed, he had pleaded guilty 
to the charge. He had, however, stoutly denied having pre- 
tended ^ be wounded. The officers said that on account 
of the prisoner’s youth they would have recommended 
him to mercy, but that the case was so flagrant a one that 
they felt it out of their power to do so. 

Taking his pen up again. Sir Richard was about to write 
“Approved and confirmed” under the statement of the 
proceedings, Avhen a tap was h^ard at the door. 

“Some ladies, sir,” said a servant, “who insist upon 
seeing you. They are accompanied by a gentleman, who 
gave me this card.” 

“This is terrible,” bethought. “ They have evidently 
come to plead for the boy’s life; but, at all hazards, I must 
do my duty.’* 

The baronet rose and awaited the arrival of his visitors. 

Lady Tryington entered the room, accompanied by 
Blanche and Arthur Belper. Digby cordially welcomed 
the ladies, and shook Arthur warmly by the hand. 

“ We have come about a very serious matter,” said Ar- 
thur; “ but you know our business, I feel sure.” 

“You mean,” said Sir Richard, “ that you have come 
to plead for that unhappy lad? It is too late!” 

“Oh, impossible, impossible 1” exclaimed Lady Trying- 
ton. “ You would never have the poor boy shot?” 

“Dear Dick! for Heaven’s sake spare him!” said 
Blanche. “ Do not be hard or cruel to such a youth.” 

“God knows,” exclaimed the baronet, “ I do not wish to 
be either the one or the other. The case is a strong one, 
as you can see, Belper.” 

“ Yes, it is,” said Arthur; “ but the boy’s years should 
stand him in some stead. Moreover, he accuses the vol- 
unteer in this statement of having kicked Metrale’s body, 


148 


OUR RADICALS. 


and says that the insult maddened him to such an extent 
that he fired without a moment’s reflection.” 

“ Why did he not state that at the trial?” inquired Sir 
Bichard Digby. 

“ He knows very little English,” said Blanche, eager to 
catch at any idea that would save the boy’s life; “and 
that is a sufficient reason. Dick, you must spare him !” 

“If he were my own son ” exclaimed Sir Richard 

Digby. 

A servant entered again before the baronet could finish 
his remark. 

“This person wishes to see you, sir, immediately.” 

Digby opened a small note that the servant carried, and 
read as follows : 

“ I have some important information to convey to you 
about Eugene’s parentage. Your friends must know it in 
time ; you had better let me state my case before them. 

“Maggie.” 

Sir Richard hesitated for a moment; then, hanging the 
note to Lady Tryington, he asked her permission that the 
woman might enter. 

“ Certainly, let her come in,” said Lady Tryington. 

Maggie entered the room, and, walking to the table, 
whispered to Sir Richard Digby. 

“ You may speak before these ladies,” he repliedj* 

“ I have just come from Paris,” Maggie said, “ where I 
have made some important discoveries about Eugene. I 
will be as brief as I can, but I must claim your patience. 
A few days ago Sir Richard Digby arrested me in the act 
of taking his life, but he spared me because I had served 
and loved his young wife.” 

“ His wife!” ejaculated Lady Tryington. “ Dick, is this 
true?” 

Sir Richard Digby bowed his head. 

“ He gave me authority to go about the camp,” contin- 
ued Maggie; “ and I saw Eugene, who told me of his early 
life in France. I learned from him that my own child 
had been at the same school. To gain what information I 
could about my own boy, I went to this school and saw 
the superior. I had certain proofs in my possession that 
she was in the pay of the Fenians, and I threatened to ex- 
pose her to the French authorities unless she told me the 
whole truth about Eugene. She then informed me that 
two children had been placed in her charge some years be- 
fore, one by a Spanish noblennan, the other by a Fenian 
agent. She was paid handsomely for the support of the 
lads for some time. Then she heard that the. Spaniard 
was dead, and that no more money would be forthcoming 


OUR RADICALS. 


140 


for the support of the child. About the same time, the 
who had been placed with her by the Fenians died. It oc- 
curred to her that she could still receive the Fenians’ 
money by representing the Spanish child as the one be- 
longing to the Fenians. This was easily done, as the Fen- 
ians had never asked to see the child they had placed with 
her, and he had been four years at the school already. 

“ Eugene, now lying under sentence of death, is the un- 
fortunate boy who was represented by this woman as be- 
longing to the Fenians, whereas he was really the grand- 
son of a Spanish nobleman, and your own son, Sir Richard 
Digby, by your marriage with his daughter.” 

Sir Richard Digby started from his chair, his face white 
as snow, and his bloodless lips quivering with emotion. 

“My son!” he gasped; “Eugene my own son! What 
proofs have you?” 

“Every necessary proof,” answered Maggie; “and the 
superior of the school is now in England, waiting to cor- 
roborate my statement.” 

Sir Richard Digby sank down again upon his chair, and 
buried his face in his hands. 

“ There are forty -eight hours,” he said, at length, “ be- 
fore the execution can take place. Can you establish your 
statements before that time?” 

“I can,” answered Maggie. 

A tap was heard at the door, and Sir Richard’s aid-de- 
camp entered. 

“ The bearer of the statement of the court-martial is 
waiting below. Can it be confirmed?” 

Sir Richard hesitated for a moment; then, taking his 
pen, confirmed the verdict. 

“ You have signed the death-warrant of your own child !” 
cried Lady Tryington. 

“ I must do my duty,” said Sir Richard, handing the 
document to his aid-de-camp. 

“ Come, Maggie, if you can satisfy my mind I will go at 
once and plead for mercy to the crown. The sentence 
cannot be carried out for forty-eight hours, but I have no 
time to lose. Good-bye,” he added to his friends, as he 
left the room with Maggie; “ pray that I may bring you 
back good news.” 

“ Let us endeavor to see Lord Cromer,” said Blanche, 
as they were leaving the War Office, “ and induce him to 
use his influence for Eugene.” 

Belper ordered the coachman to drive to the mansion 
inhabited by the wounded general. They found Lord 
Cromer’s medical advisers in attendance. 

“He is very ill,” said Dr. Planselle; “any excitement 


150 


OUR RADICALS. 


might cause his death. We really cannot allow you to be 
admitted.” 

“But it is a question of life and death,” said Lady Try- 
ington. 

“I am very sorry, Lady Tryington, but we must do our 
duty,” answered the physician. 

{Here the original MS. ends, and the conclusion of the 
story is amplified from Colonel Burnaby^ s suggestions.) 

Sic :)c * 

Finding it impossible to obtain an interview with Lord 
Cromer, Lady Tryington returned to the Hermitage with 
her niece and Colonel Bel per. 

“ We shall hear from Dick as soon as he leaves Wind- 
sor,” said Lady Tryington. 

They had not long to wait in suspense, for a telegram 
arrived from Sir Richard Digby the same night. It was 
worded as follows : 

“The sovereign has h^en pleased to pardon Eugene, 
and Lord Cromer is quite satisfied with the decision.” 

“Now all our troubles are at an end, I hope,” said 
Lady Tryington. “And while the country is settling 
down, after all these months of rebellion, I think we may 
as well go abroad.” 

“Oh, that will be delightful, aunt!” said Blanche, 
“if ” 

“If Arthur accompanies us,” added Lady Tryington, 
smiling. “ Well, I have no doubt he will. What do you 
say, Arthur?” 

“That nothing will give me greater pleasure, if I can 
get a long enougli leave of absence,” replied Belper. 

“The only thing that remains to be settled is, where 
shall we go?” said Lady Tryington. 

It was decided, much to Laura’s dissatisfaction, that 
they should make a tour through Spain, as it would en- 
able Blanche to study the paintings of the Spanish mas- 
ters, in which art she was considered to be very accom- 
plished. 

“There was a lady in Seville, the last time we stayed 
there, who was really very clever with her brush,” said 
Blanche. “You remember, aunt, I took a few lessons 
from her.” 

“ I remember,” Lady Tryington replied. “We met her 
first in the old Alcazar Gardens, and I was struck with 
her singular beauty.” 

“She lived in the Plaza de la Constitucion,” said Laura; 
“and you thought her a clever artist because she had such 
an elegant study. One might as well say that a book must 


OUR RADICALS. 151 

be well written because it happens to be bound in mo- 
rocco.” 

It was arranged that they should leave England in less 
than a month; and, if possible, Sir Richard Digby was to 
be one of the party. 

“ I think I shall prevail on him to go,” said Belper, as 
he was saying good-night. 

“And perhaps,” said Blanche, “he will take us in his 
yacht.” 


CHAPTER XLT. 

The strain of the last few months had told heavily upon 
Sir Richard Digby’s health, and at the urgent request of 
his physician he consented to accompany Lady Tryington 
to Spain. 

They had now been in Seville a week. Much of that time 
Digby had spent in solitude. The place was associated 
with the happiest days of his life — those days which he 
had spent with the young wife he had so passionately 
loved, and so prematurely lost. 

For hours he would stand upon the cathedral tower, list- 
ening to the faint, monotonous hum of the busy city be- 
neath, or the bells as they pealed from the cathedral tower 
in honor of some Christian festival. In the distance rose 
the Moorish palace of the Spanish kings — rich with its 
many historical associations, and surrounded by its mar- 
ble courts and terraces; its olive, orange, and myrtle 
groves, abounding in curious remains of Moorishand Rom- 
an antiquity. Far beyond, the Gaudalquivir wound like 
a serpent through a flat and marshy country ; and on the 
other side of the river lay the province of Triana, the home 
of the Andalusian gypsies. 

On every hand he was reminded of-the past — that past 
which he had treasured so dearly, and which was ever 
present to him as he gazed into the fair face of the minia- 
ture he wore around his neck. 

Was she dead? or was she alive? Had she remembered 
him through the long and weary years as he had remem- 
bered her? Would they ever stand hqart to heart, as they 
had stood in the old days when silence was often sweeter 
than speech, and when only the twitter of the birds among 
the orange-trees, or the sighing of the wind through the 
myrtle boughs, or the liquid plashing of the fountains had 
broken the dreamy stillness ! 

“ How different my life would have been if she had 
lived!” he murmured to himself, day by day. “How 
proud she would have been of Eugene 1” 

Maggie’s discovery of Eugene’s parentage had not rested 


152 


OVR RADICALS, 


solely upon the evidence of the superior of the school at 
which he had been placed. A Bourbon woman, who had 
been in the employ of the superior, was found, and she 
corroborated her mistress’ testimony, and identified Eu- 
gene as the boy who had been placed at Erremont by his 
grandfather. Eugene was now Lady Tryington’s constant 
companion, and the growing favor he gained in her eyes 
was due as much to his handsome presence as his noble 
disposition. 

One morning, at breakfast, Sir Kichard Digby ex- 
claimed : 

“ I have a letter from dear old Cromer! He wishes to 
be kindly remembered to you all ; and he says that he 
was never so well in his life, and never more able to carry 
out the work he has in hand. What do you think of that, 
aunt?” 

“ I am delighted to hear it,” answered Lady Tryington; 
“ I only hope he may not overtax his strength.” 

“As our fair Blanche i^ doing with those brushes and 
easels,” added Sir Eichard. “I wonder you do not take 
better care of her, Belper. There is anothe;* letter frorn^ 
Maggie; she wishes me to get her a place in the Con-' 
vent of Our Saviour at Seville. Do you think it could 
be done?” 

“I will speak to Ursula about it this morning; she 
has great influence with the sisters.” 

Sir Richard Digby started. 

‘ ‘ Ursula !” he exclaimed. ‘ ‘ Who is Ursula?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, she is a most charming lady who lives in the Plaza 
de la Constitucion, and who is explaining to me the beau- 
ties of Velasquez and Murillo,” said Blanche, who was 
painting in the shade cast by the awning over the win- 
dow. 

“ Oh, an artist!” said Sir Richard. 

' “ Yes,” said Laura, contemptuously; “ only an artist!” 

■ “Maggie adds in her letter that it will not be safe for 
her to stay in England much longer.” 

“Why not?” inquired Lady Tryington. 

“Well, I suppose she fears the Fenians may make a 
dying effort to avenge themselves on her for having ex- 
posed their vile plots.” said Digby. 

“ The trial of Moonlight Barry and his accomplices is at 
‘ an end. They are to be hanged,” said Arthur Belper, ap- 
pearing at the window. 

He had been reading a copy of the Scraider, and enjoy- 
ing a cigar upon the balcony ; and as he opened the win- 
dow the fumes of his tobacco entered the apartment, min- 
gled with the odor of tropical plants. 

“ Is that in Ryder’s paper?” inquired Sir Richard, 


OUR RADICALS. 


153 


“Yes,” answered Arthur; “and here is a paragraph 
about the ministers.” 

- “ Oh, please read it!” exclaimed Lady Tryington. 

“ We stated in our columns last week that Sir Charles 
Able liad placed his yacht at the disposal of the late cabi- 
net ministers. We are now in a position to say that those 
gentlemen have availed themselves of this generous offer, 
and have started for a cruise round the world.” 

“ They will be more at sea than usual,” said Sir Rich- 
ard, smiling, as he lit a cigar and joined his friend upon 
the balcony. 

“Where^are you going?” said Lady Tryington to Blanche, 
who had risen from her painting and was folding the 
easel. 

“ I am going to the Plaza de la Constitucion,” replied 
Blanche. “ I am not only to admire the artist’s work this 
morning, I am to hear something of the life of the artist.” 

“Very interesting, indeed, such a life must be!” said 
Laura, sarcastically. 

“Indeed, it will be,” said Blanche; “and knowing her 
to be a high-spirited, noble-minded woman, it is not strange 
that I should be interested in her career. Moreover, she 
is so exceptionally beautiful that I have no doubt her life 
has been one long romance. You must not expect me 
back till late,” added Blanche, as she left the room. 

“ You look worried and anxious, Dick,” said Arthur to 
his friend, as they sat smoking upon the balcony. 

There was a slight pause before Sir Richard answered. 

“Who, I — I? Yes, you are right, I am anxious; this 
nothing-to-do life does not amuse me. I want work, the 
infalliDle panacea for an unquiet mind ; and if it were not 
discourteous to my aunt, I should return to England and 
get employment from Lord Cromer. I know I could 
make myself useful to him in his new capacity as military 
dictator. By the way, who is this artist that monopolizes 
so much of Kanche’s time?” 

“I really don’t know much about her. Blanche says 
she is a woman with a history.” 

‘ ‘ And her name ?” 

“ Ursula is the only name I know her by.” 

“ I started this morning when I heard Blanche mention 
it; it seemed like an echo to my thoughts. You know, 
Arthur, that that was the n^ime of my wife.” 

‘ And have 'you never been able to "discover whether she 
is alive or dead?” 

“Never,” groaned Digby, “never. We were married, 
as you know, against her father’s wish. A month after 
our marriage we were walking together under the shadow 
of this very cathedral, when I was suddenly struck to the 


154 


ovn RADICALS. 


ground by a blow from behind. Wlien I recovered con- 
sciousness I found my wife gone, and from that night to 
this day I have never seen her beautiful face.” 

“ Did you not go to her father?” 

“Yes; and to my surprise he appeared to sha^e my 
grief, and offered to assist me in my search for her. Day 
and night I sought her everywhere, but to no purpose. My 
father’s death brought me suddenly to England twelve 
months after I lost her; on my return I renewed my 
search, but with the same result. The only information 
I have ever been able to gain was from Maggie, who recog- 
nized in her portrait the mistress whom she had served in 
the Convent of Our Saviour. That fact the sisters of the 
convent have corroborated, but they know nothing of her 
subsequent fate.” 

“ And you still live in hopes of seeing her?” 

“Yes; I still live in hopes.” 

In the meantime Blanche had made her way to the 
Plaza de la Constitucjon. On arriving at the artist’s 
house, she was admitted into the inner court, in which a 
fountain was cooling the languid air with its invigorating 
sprays, and was then conducted through a corridor into a 
large and handsomely famished saloon. It was evidently 
the artist’s studio, for it reveled in that artistic litter which 
is the predominant feature of the “workshop of the gen- 
ius.” There was an anteroom adjoining, and the doors 
leading to it were covered by two heavy hangings, elabo- 
rately embroidered with needlework. As Blanche was ex- 
amining the design of the work, the folds were thrown 
aside, and the artist passed between them into the room. 
Her figure was faultlessly proportioned, and her carriage 
full of grace and dignity. Blanche thought, as their eyes 
met, that she had never beheld so beautiful a woman. 

When they were seated at their work, Blanche noticed 
for the first time that the artist wore a wedding-ring. 

“ You are married!” she could not resist saying. 

“ I am a widow,” answered the artist. 

“I would not like to wake any sad recollections,” said 
Blanche, tenderly; “but I should like to hear more of 
your life. It has been spent, as you say, in such singular 
solitude.” 

“ Not singular solitude,” answered the artist ; “ for, after 
such a loss as I sustained, it was but natural that I should 
wish to avoid society.” 

“I understand,” said Blanche; “you loved your hus- 
band.” 

“Loved him !” she exclaimed ;“ no word can describe 
how tenderly, how devotedly. When he was taken from 
me by my father and I was forced to take refuge in a con- 


OVR RADICALS. 


155 


vent, I thought I should never recover the loss. The 
birth of our child, however, reconciled me to life, and I 
lived to teach him to honor and love the name of his 
father.” 

‘‘But how was it your husband never returned to 
you?” 

“ He was killed in South Africa. My father showed me 
his name one morning in an English paper, and being in 
a weak state of health, the shock proved too much for me, 
and it was the commencement of a long and serious illness. 
When I recovered another misfortune was in store forme. 
My child had died, and had been buried ty^o months. Since 
my father’s death I have lived the life you see me living 
to-day, patiently waiting to join those who were so dear 
to me, and whose memories I cherish so devotedly.” 

“Have you no portrait of j^our husband?” inquired 
Blanche; “or perhaps, if you have, you would prefer 
not to show it to me. ” 

“I have one,” said the artist, drawing a small locket 
from her breast. “ I have never shown it to any one, but 
you have stolen so many of my secrets from me, with 
that sweet face of yours, that I cannot deny you this re- 
quest; there it is.” 

Blanche glanced at the portrait with some interest, 
but as her e3’^es fell upon the face revealed to her, she 
started from her seat, pale and breathless. 

“Oh, no, no!” she exclaimed; “it cannot be; it can- 
not be 1” ^ 

“What is the matter?” cried the artist. “Did you 
know him?” 

“Tell me, tell me,” continued Blanche, who was striv- 
ing hard to keep back the tears that were filling her 
eyes, “his name I” 

‘ ‘ Richard Digby . ” 

“ My cousin!” 

“Your cousin ?” 

Blanche fell back upon a couch and buried her face in 
her hands, and her companion, forgetting lier own grief, 
knelt beside her, and tried to comfort her. 

“ Believe me,” said Blanche, “these are not tears of sor- 
row, but joy.” 

“ Joy !’' said her companion; “ I do not understand.” 

“ Not now, but you will hereafter. Providence has led 
me here to restore to you all that you hold near and 
dear— your husband and your child.” 

With a wild cry of delight her companion threw her 
arms around Blanche’s neck. 

“ Then they are not dead !” she cried. “ He is not dead !” 


156 


OVR RADICALS. 


“No; he lives and loves you as faithfully as you have 
loved him.” 

^ * * * * 

It was evening. The lamps had not been lit, and the 
objects in the room were only visible in outline, and as- 
sumed unnatural proportions in the pervading gloom. 
The air entered through the open windows, heavily laden 
with the perfume of citron and orange ; and without the 
beams of the rising moon quivered in the basin of a clam- 
orous fountain. 

Two figures stood in the twilight, clasped in each other’s 
arms. 

“ That we should meet after these long years of pain, 
Ursula, my darling !” 

“ I could endure it all again, dear husband,” she replied, 
“ to feel your arms once more around me, and your dear 
face close to mine, as I have pictured it during the long 
days and nights when I had but your picture to look 
upon.” , • 

“My darling!” 

Presently the lamps were lit, and Lady Tryington en- 
tered the room accompanied by her two nieces and Colonel 
Belper. Eugene followed them shortly afterward and sat 
down beside his mother. 

“ May I trouble you one moment, Dick, on a matter of 
business?” said Belper, seating himself at a writing-table. 

“Certainly.” 

“ What are you doing?” said Blanche, leaning over 
Arthur’s shoulder. 

“ I am writing a check for £500, dear, to settle my bet 
with Dick.” 

“Oh, you men are so extravagant in your pleasures !” 
exclaimed Lady Tryington. 

“Never mind, aunt,” said Sir Eichard Digby. “The 
money shall not go out of the family. Ursula has decided 
to buy a wedding-present with it for Blanche.” 

[the end.] 





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